


Exodus

by CorellianSea



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Corellian Royalty, Corellian Tradition, CorellianPrince!Han, EmpirePrince!Luke, ForceBond, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Slow Burn, Tatooine Tradition/Royal Line, various other characters show up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-13 13:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7978624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorellianSea/pseuds/CorellianSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <span class="small">Luke recalled his father's fury when Corellia's people continued to rise after every battle he'd brutally crushed them in. He then shifted uncomfortably in his seat after failing to summon any other detail of his father’s invasion of Corellia. He had been a mere boy at the time. Therefore, he was only able to remember his father’s rage and The Empire's overall failure to capture the planet before the natives could substantially drain the precious resources his father had wanted from them. </span>
</p><p>  <span class="small">Luke did not want to see any of these kind people slaughtered. </span></p><p>  <span class="small">If war indeed came, would Han stand alongside his brothers and fight for his home world as well?</span></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Luke Skywalker rotated his body on the makeshift bedding and grimaced at how his lower back and thighs throbbed with an ache that proved in being a genuine challenge to snub even with the amount of patience drilled into him as a boy. Furrowing his brows deeply, he grunted unhappily and tucked his arm beneath his head to serve as yet another personal requirement for sleep. This place was not ideal to have stumbled upon, but he supposed it would simply have to do. There was not a way he could return back to where he once hailed from, the possibility long gone the moment he threw the royal crown right off his head. Abruptly, Luke’s expression twisted from the unwanted recollection.

He willed the thoughts away as best he could, but the power merely intensified, returning to project in his mind the vision of his father gawking down at him in utter horror, a precise mix of betrayal and genuine repugnance in those dark blue eyes, blending together at a velocity fast enough to spur an onslaught of fierce vertigo to cleave through dimmed consciousness. The whole length of his body tensed up on the mat he reclined upon, recoiling harshly as debilitated muscles protested any movement by blazing a new, branding white hot agony behind his eyes. It seemed even the tiniest fraction of movement would cause affliction to ripple over him, and Luke could only writhe on the mat, wriggling all over until he momentarily regretted ever saving the life of that blasted girl —

Sky blue eyes flew open after having settled down in drawn-out stillness, disturbed by a faint shuffling hardly perceivable in his dazed state, his azure gaze encountering that of a spukama’s piercing leer inches from his nose. Instinctively rebounding backward, he hissed out a stifled, heaving breath as another raw wave struck him near stupid, agony not far from crippling him for a good junction of time.

“Hey — _Korvas_! C’mere before I toss you over to Elka ‘n make a stew out of you.”

Though Luke’s eyes had closed for an instant in the midst of his efforts to reorient his reality, sickening upsurges seeping out of his clouded brain drained hastily, inexplicably faster now that he was moderately alarmed. The voice Luke heard was entirely unexpected after having lain in a thick bout of silence and it cut through what little tranquility he'd managed to salvage whilst basking in much needed solitude.

Going great lengths to retain from allowing any more misery to inflict upon himself, Luke painstakingly turned his body back around and greeted a sight he wished were two spukama’s instead; three would’ve been fine, perhaps three angry, starved and desperate spukama’s wouldn’t have been as terrible as the person standing before him.

At least he could have played dead, could have ignored their shrieks for attention, and if they attacked, one fell swoop of his arm would have set them back in line and reminded them of their place, even if it meant he would be instantly walloped with another burst of blinding scourge from his bruised and battered body.  
  


To speak the honest truth, a lot of things would have been better than this guy.  
  


“What did I tell you about being a bother to others? ‘Cause the only thing you’re gonna get is a smack from Elka ‘n another missed meal.”

If the baritone purposefully bordered chiding, Luke interpreted it as a mere playful scolding, senses of nostalgia crossed in, underlining subtly, and Luke felt safe to surmise the pet had been a member of the family for some time.

Luke held his tongue, apprehensive to speak as he barely caught the graceful jump of Korvas, quickly skittering over to his master, moving like a black shadow and purring a soft, low sounding drone as it stopped just in front of the man, it arched its back as it happily stretched, eventually sitting in an almost polished manner. The pet spukama piped up a noise Luke couldn’t reference to something he had ever heard in the past, and his eyes flickered back up to the owner who had secured their hands on their hips, beaming down at Korvas with a half grin before making a show of reluctance in stretching out his arm, allowing the feline to make an impressive jump, nothing leading up to the sudden spring, his hind legs did all the work. 

Korvas settled on the man’s shoulder and poised perfectly, somewhat peculiarly as it didn’t once falter even when the man’s arm retired to rest at his side for a short lapse in time, then resumed animation by hooking his thumbs in the loops of his pants to stand casually. “Korvas is curious about you, that’s all. As long as you’re nice to ‘em, he won’t bite or scratch,” the man’s shoulders flexed avidly to adjust to the added weight, and Luke flinched when the spukama yowled, his eyes darting back to Korvas, tad startled himself, but he remained motionless next to the owner’s head.

It was disturbing, to say the least, Luke thought to himself as hazel eyes fastened themselves on him soon after. Luke quelled the urge to glare back in defiance in spite of comprehending the emotion he felt was entirely uncalled for since this was the same man who had proved himself in being the key factor as to how Luke was still alive at all.

This man _did_ save his life, rescued him from the well he had pitched himself into when he’d foolishly played the role of a hero for a few little girls he’d never once laid eyes on, nevertheless, contempt advanced without preliminary, rising to the surface when Luke even so much as spared a meager glimpse in the man’s direction.

“So, how’re you feeling now, kid?”

One couldn’t say he wasn’t trying to sound friendly, even if he had the most _obnoxious_ smirk stretching one side of his face.

“I am _no_ child,” came the unhesitating counter, and Luke was not so certain if he would proceed to contrite such an impulsive reply that belted out without much valid reason.

“Well, junior,” his grin spreading ever wider to reveal pearly teeth, arms crossing to punctuate, to jab at Luke, “I’ve got about ten years on you, so, I think it’s kind of safe to say you’re a kid to me. When I was workin’ the ship yards, I bet you were just a whelp.”

“I am no animal either! I am the _sovereign_ prince of — ” at first, Luke flared at the comparison, allowed unbounded animosity to consume him like so many times prior, however, what running outrage that materialized had frittered away before he could even conclude his proper introduction. Luke compressed his mouth tightly, lips thinning out as newfound traces of stigma began burning down the back of his neck, and he bridled any remains of his retaliation.

As much as Luke hoped otherwise, the grin had dropped right off the man’s sun-tanned face at Luke’s snap, and his evident surprise hardened noticeably, calcifying into a dangerous glare steered toward the younger man. Luke bottled up what rue he predicted in rising, wanting desperately to revise his words, yet at the same time he wanted no acknowledgment to his ungrateful selfishness.

Blue ember orbs raced downward in passing thought before resolving with the notion that it would be much more fitting if he at least sat up to confront this stranger. Luke struggled to get upright, in the meantime, the man stomped over and towered over Luke’s form, who only achieved in propping his elbows up on the mat.

“Look here, your _worship_ — if you didn’t save my ‘lil sister from those raiders, I wouldn’t even have you within ten visvias of my family clan, much less in my godsdamned spare tent taking up all my godsdamned space. On top of all that, I’ve got to sleep outside ‘cause my ship’s been banged up by your Imperial scouts. In fact, you’d probably get a quick blast to the chest if it were up to me. Call it mercy for protecting my sister, but that’s all you'd deserve from me.” Vehemently punctuating, he tapped his hip to further emphasize his statement; the blaster belt swung slightly as burnished hazel alight with fury challenged a smoldering azure.

“Since I saved your life twice,” two fingers shot up to wave at Luke’s face, “That’s _two_ you owe me, junior.”

Then he reeled, “You’re also just lucky my eldest sister’s the clan leader around here, otherwise, I’d kick your sorry ass out right now, let you wander alone in the wild ‘n see how _you_ like it this time ‘round, Prince Skywalker.”

Luke cringed as the man’s words jarred his memory, all at once, visions of his father’s guest hall appeared behind his lidded eyes. Dozens upon dozens of men and women, races of all kinds surrounded him and his father, and the emperor seated on the throne, watching intensely. Echoing voices clamored, loud and obnoxious, utterly deafening — nausea bubbled from the recollection, stimulating immediate vertigo and induced the already pressing compulsion to vomit. Luke forestalled it by clamping a hand over his mouth, stomach lurching from the abhorrent memories.

Oh — right, Luke _did_ identify who this man was, not only that, but they had met three times prior and yet Luke still couldn’t quite summon a name to his face.

The tall man across the tent had hastily stepped back, blatant disgust folding in well to bury any concern he may have held for the other man, veiling it effectively. Korvas jumped off his shoulder with a short mewl, yowling once when Luke’s stomach gurgled out, a deep groan of discomfort following soon after. Luke’s condition couldn’t improve without adequate medical attention, and both of them understood such a fact, however, it didn’t stop Luke from continuing his futile attempts to get himself upright.

“Stop movin’ already —” his boots thumped against thick cloth flooring, circling somewhat frantically until he doubled back to where he once stood before, ceased movement, then groaned to himself as he made his way over to Luke. When he was mere inches away from Luke’s twisting form, arms outstretched as if to support — whether he genuinely intended to help or had simply behaved out of reflex, Luke didn’t know, either way, the man delayed in doing both.

“You’re only gonna hurt yourself some more if you don’t stop movin’ now, I think you’ve got a few broken ribs, some fractures on top of that— you got banged up real hard when you fell into the well.” He shot a finger in Luke’s general direction, his distance from the prince still too extensive for Luke to distinguish as to where he pointed, “I think you’ve got a fracture in that arm you’re putting weight on. My sister already said she was going to help you. So, just take it easy for now. No need to man up, kid, help’s comin’.”  
  


_‘Help is coming...'_   
  


Oh, there it was again — the same words used when he was rescued by him the second time.

Luke had limited his communications channels and disabled his navigation systems, flying blind in order to throw off Imperial hounds sent after him to bring him back to his father and Palpatine, so it was absolutely feasible that The Empire must have ordered dozens of fleets to patrol, to scour every inch of the galaxy for him by now, likely not at all far from the sector of space where he crash landed either.

To an extent, Luke harbored an abundance of gratefulness for the man before him, considering how this annoying, insufferable, nerfherd — pilot — had manned the very ship that shot down a team of tie fighters tailing him.

A howl of victory not from himself had cut through fading explosions, deep booms perceived as only distant, muffled blares and all at once completely deafened by his own joyous scream inside the cockpit, sharing the moment as cries of victory twined together, scene ending in what could have been his greatest liberation from the hands of the Empire. Though seemingly at random, all joyous celebration came short-lived.

Luke hadn’t a chance to thank the other passing spacer, never even got to reply to the curious inquiry from the other; Luke’s communicator connected with the spacer’s at the same point in time he rose to an awareness that something was terribly wrong — the heart-stopping notion hitting him last minute, unduly delirious from having someone unexpectedly ambush his master’s goons kept him from concentrating on the present. The mysterious ship that swooped in to aid Luke was too late in taking out the enemy fighters before they could strike a significant blow, for his port thruster had been blasted off in the skirmish. All too soon, the planet’s gravity seized the imbalanced x-wing right away and had pulled Luke into the atmosphere, promptly hurling his ship to the surface.

Coiling alarm in his belly rekindled flashbacks of being inside his Alliance disguised x-wing, despairingly making an effort to release his locked emergency hatch so he could eject, having breached the unknown planet’s atmosphere for more than a minute, Luke's tiny window of opportunity in maybe surviving this ordeal dwindled with every passing second. To his terror, it appeared that the harder he tried to pry open the hatch, the tighter it would lock itself up.

A red emergency light flashed frantically above him, warning him of inevitable impact and his own impending doom; that was until, quite amazingly, the same ship from before swooping down to him even as he hurdled past dense white clouds, silver color of the hull barely perceivable until a bright light beamed toward him.

Luke had scoped out his dashboard in acute horror, mistaking it a turret shot, automatically assuming the pilot fired at him— could’ve been a mercy of some sort; Luke had jumped to his deduction for he knew of the casualties of war, he fought enough battles himself to figure mercy itself came rare, and wherever it could be provided, customarily led to it being snatched without hesitation for the other party— including allies. Nevertheless, everything spun so fast he had no time to ponder over the extremely ambiguous actions of the other pilot.

Luke had braced himself for the missile impact, harsh winds roaring and slamming against the hull of his ship, pitched whistles splitting his ears — it never came. In fact, he was very much alive and the barrage to his senses slowly muzzled, although scantily; it was then Luke had taken precious time to assess the situation. A near four seconds passed before he realized it was a tractor beam — a weak one at that, but it was clear to see that whoever the hell manned that ancient looking ship was incredibly determined to keep Luke from remodeling the vast amount of green land beneath both rapidly descending ships.

Luke made it out alive; his ship plunged into a blanket of vegetation, towering trees had softened his collision, however, it was conclusively incapable of doing much to spare him of serious injury. When Luke came to in the cockpit of his ship and crawled out into the wilderness, half burned and torn all over.

The Empire's prince stood shakily to view a vast grassy plain before him, stretching mile after mile, and the steaming hunk of what was left of his x-wing behind him; Luke screamed into the sky, an awareness homed in to slam his mind: that his rescuer was nowhere to be found and he was now stranded on some planet he never once stepped foot on before in his life.

An ice-cold trickle of dread dribbled down the nape of Luke’s neck, the very thought of his father coming to find him, to drag him back — what would happen to him? Would his father find him a complete disgrace for rejecting wide off the mark ideals and opposing both him and the Emperor? On the grounds that Luke simply couldn’t quite bear to cause any more harm, to breed ever expanding fear — belated in understanding what he had done and the lives that he endangered, to forge an Empire for a man he knew in being corrupt.

After all, how could Palpatine not fall under his father’s rightful rule as king? — technicalities and laws blurred and smudged off in favor of Palpatine’s ascension to power, all while his father was gleefully brainwashed by his own master, merely a figurehead as Palpatine played the senate and kingdom as if they were strings to a quetarra instrument. Luke didn’t want to come close to envisioning what his father deemed of him at the moment, what his father would do to him; Palpatine’s influence over Anakin Skywalker remained far too strong and Luke understood he, himself, stood not a single chance against a Sith lord.

In defiance of rather significant facts, Luke countered himself from mentally formulating any possibilities on the matter, although it seemed fantasy chose to make itself known either way. Luke assumed it was maybe because he avidly put up a fight with the thought before long, jostling off each and every conceptualization of coming to fight his father or Palpatine one day. Except, if he didn't, Luke would have to live with the culpability of leaving his father in the hands of a demon for the rest of his life— Luke quickly hushed the spiraling thoughts, feeling himself sink lower in exhaustion’s welcome embrace, ready in lulling him to sleep.

“I can take care of myself just fine,” Luke grunted tiredly and stared down at his boots in order to aim his glower somewhere that wouldn’t shoot another one back. He laminated further, “I don’t need your help or your sister’s. While I do appreciate what you have all done for me, I don’t deserve any more help your clan wants to give me. In fact, I think I should really get going now, especially before I cause any more trouble— I… or to _bring_ you any more trouble.”

Luke shifted thereupon perceiving a faint sound and ceased all movement, convinced he had detected a quiet yet sharp inhale, nearly missing it entirely if it weren’t for the piddling shift from the man’s legs that had given the action away. The prince looked up and perceived genuine, transient confusion chasing across tanned, rugged features right before an opportunity in deviating the look could come about. Luke's exceptional scrutiny permitted nothing to escape him and he watched as countenance resembling that of disbelief swiftly replace the unexpected response.

“Well, you should’ve done that a long time ago, Skywalker. Maybe back when you still had the chance to make a difference.”

They stared each other down for a good thirty seconds or so, either man disinclined to break off first, however, the shuffling at the entrance of the tent had Han flipping astern as if caught red-handed doing something he wasn’t supposed to.

At long last upright and settled on his haunches, Luke swiped his tunic sleeve over his forehead to catch some beaded perspiration, exertion from having moved about as well as residual anger combined to steal his breath. For a concise junction, Luke questioned if his labored breathing arose from the absurdly dense, humid air; how it seemed to keep him constantly sticky and clammy all over; how it burgeoned a heat to lick flames underneath his clothing, induced perspiration to burst from his skin and sodden his clothing. Was he panting? Luke stilled himself rigid, his master’s words ringing as he sought for composure for any displayed weakness would surely guarantee death.

When the man stepped aside, a slim woman in a dress draped with various colored fabrics hung over her shoulders strode toward him, a smile on her aged face and her eyes a vitreous shade of amber yellow, much like that of the man who stood beside her, though his flecked with polished viridescence.

This woman — was she the sister he had spoken of? — the clan’s leader? Luke swallowed thickly, the conduct didn't stem from anxiety, but had been utilized to crumple the hot demand for knowledge and comprehension of the situation at hand.

Her contemplation clearly pierced through him as she occupied the space where his rescuer once stood. There was no uncertainty she was taller than Luke, although it added to the impression that this whole tribe seemed to consist of giants.

At least he thought so since that was how Luke remembered it being when he was nearly slung over someone’s shoulder, partly conscious, but mostly unconscious of the sights that had seemed to whiz past him. For the first time since having met Palpatine; how his master had used that same process of examination against him; to read him, expose all the shadowed regions, areas of eclipsed fear he helplessly attempted to hide even though he knew doing so would be entirely in vain. Luke had not felt more vulnerable and more like a child than he had in years.

The clan leader stretched out and gently took hold of his chin, staring into Luke’s eyes, the look she cast a hard one before it just about rendered off and reformed into that of a near loving expression. As she peered into glassy sky-blue eyes, she chatted with a hint of light amusement and it weaved effortlessly into her fluid voice, “Oh, my boy, I’m sorry about my little brother’s behavior,” she sprang, tone warm. Luke’s eyes widened at the apology when he had awaited some sort of ultimatum on his life or anything akin to the general idea of his life being threatened.

“My name is Elka Solo, and I am the Corellian House leader of the Solos’.” Delaying, she tucked a lock of ash brown hair behind her ear and dipped her head in concern, and to some degree, seemed perplexed as well, “You look a little breathless and rosy in the cheeks, young one... I’m hoping my brother didn’t step up on any lines he shouldn’t be crossing while he was alone with you?”

Elka held herself in place to slant a surveying sweep toward her little brother, delivering an expression Luke could not see himself. Be that as it may, Luke reckoned he could figure just fine, and If not, the very least he could do was come through in catching an idea of what she flung her brother. Judging by how his face tinted a shade deeper, how his arms crossed in defense following split seconds of unintelligible sputtering — giving up shortly after with a string of mumbled profanity; Luke confirmed his private speculations.

Nevertheless, the slight flush rose from the collar of his tunic anyhow. When Elka turned back to him and looked expectant of an answer when he knew he had none to offer, Luke quickly saw the risk of inadvertently snapping at this woman without a rational motive. Even now, his grief, his failure, and his shortcomings dictated him, sparking to kindle blazes that would, in no doubt, accumulate into calamitous wildfires. While harboring virtually all his self-control, Luke worried about even opening his mouth to speak, humiliation licked his insides and scalded withering residual pride.

The faint lines darkening around her mouth aided in Luke’s prediction that she would frown, but to his surprise, she pursed her lips thin and smiled instead, “Alright, young one, I know you are injured ‘neath your robes and those injuries are not fresh. I can smell the rot and the dirt on you. What you need now is proper medical attention and a bath — maybe not quite in that order, however,” when Elka laughed, Luke temporarily neglected what got him so heated in the first place. “I have brought some medical supplies with me. It took some time to get it to you, but I think it worth the troubles if it will ease even a little bit of your suffering. My apologies for the time you spent waiting without a word. My schedule only just now cleared up enough for me to see you personally.”

Luke noticed the elder lift one of her cloth ends to slip a hand behind the draping fabric, drawing out a small metal container Luke found covered in grime. Although grateful for her clear efforts in providing medical supplies to him in a place that lacked much of anything close to technological, Luke dearly hoped the bacta inside the container would be uncontaminated and usable.

When Elka set the box beside him, she straightened and turned toward her younger brother standing a ways away from them, gaze cast off to the side as he leaned against a tent support beam, “Han, c’mere and help him with his injuries. I would help myself, but I must attend to more pressing matters. Get him cleaned up and welcome him to the clan while I’m gone.”

Apparently, Han fell into the deportment category of being one to stubbornly fight down any opposing party; he didn’t require a specific reason as to why, Han simply didn’t feel like complying. Immediately, he chuckled, shaking his head prior to his frown returning when Elka mounted an eyebrow.

“The brat can dress his own _blasted_ wounds. He’s a man, ain’t he? ‘Sides, his majesty ain’t so fond of me anyway… Who knows — he might just get ticked enough to use that mumbo-jumbo magic of his and lop my arm clean off if he wants to. You sure you want to go ‘n risk my arm like that?” Han gestured lamely at his shoulder, arm outstretched toward Elka. “With my skills as a pilot, you’re going to be losin’ a lot more than you’re bargaining for.” Han waved a hand in the air to generally dismiss as he shrugged, “You don’t wanna risk it, Elka, trust me.”

“And you know, I wonder why he would even want to do that,” her thin arms crossed over her chest, much like how Han’s were now rested at the moment.

Luke’s pondering began to circle around the overall perception of how all natives of this planet he had crash landed on were simply always this stubborn.

“You probably didn’t just step on that line — you _danced_ on the damned thing didn’t ya, Han? I expected better from you; Astri's really influenced by you. Years ago, you looking for trouble would make sense but y’know, you’re not so young anymore —”

“— I ain’t even seen the backside of thirty yet, no need to keep bringing it up!” Han snapped, waving his arms wildly before pitching himself off the wall, grumbling, “alright, alright, I’ll help his exaltedness clean up. You all are older than _me_ anyway — makes no sense in calling me old!”

Deciding that he rather admired Elka’s refreshing and playful spirit, Luke continued shaking his head in spite of the fact none of them were facing him to see the declination. Luke shook his head once more, protesting civilly when they finally turned back to him. He carried a certain tone and volume significantly more reserved than the one he had used when speaking to Han,“Thank you, Elder Solo, but I think will be fine. I don’t need help from anyone else, you all have done enough, I just need —”  
  
“Do not defy me either now, young prince, as I do realize the authority you have amongst the Empire, this is my homeland you reside in at the moment; Corellia, a planet that has not been seized and conquered, and established under Palpatine’s growing supremacy. My hospitality to you is a _gift_ — so,” her honey glazed orbs soon glowed with something Luke thought torrid; the facial expression she shot him skirted a near threat in itself, “My requests of you, Prince Skywalker, I advise you to obey them as I would for you if I stood upon your own land.”

Han whistled when his sister finished, somewhat proud of the way she spoke to the feared aristocrat before he too received a heaping serving of her glare as well, shutting him up so effectively that Luke fairly wished he had the same ability on the man.

Delicately lifting the ends of her dress an inch or two from the ground, Elka began to make her way out of the tent; nodding her head once at Luke with a smile, she then proceeded to slap her brother’s bottom hard enough to evoke a startled yelp from him.

Elka chuckled on the way out, pausing to spare them a teasing smile from the tent flap, “Please, play nice. I want him clean when I get back. Not a speck of dirt on him, little brother, or I’ll give you something to _really_ gripe about.” With that, she was gone.

Han rubbed both hands on his stinging backside, glaring at the tent flap like he could have set fire to it just by willing it enough. Han then tossed himself back to Luke in the spur of the moment, both of them startled by the happening and Han looking almost as if he had completely forgotten he was not alone.  
  


Scowling, he snapped grumpily at the younger man, “What’re you lookin’ at?”  


 


	2. Chapter 2

 

“Hold still or else I’m going to scrub your skin off ‘n pin that as cleanin’ you up. No skin means no dirt, so technically, I followed my orders just fine.”

Han narrowed his eyes as he wrung a sullied washcloth in his hands, dipped it back into a murky, opaque bucket of water and wrung it another time, then returned to Luke who sat rigid in an aged, wood fashioned tub. It surely counted as a sight, Luke had never once seen before, never once touched in his life, much less sat in, and all while being bathed by a man who, in all probability, hated his lousy guts by now.

Wincing when the hot fabric pressed up against his bare chest, Luke let slip a sharp sibilation by chance, but soon trailed off when pleasurable warmth spread and diffused into dark and splotchy bruised skin, soothing severely contused muscular tissue. Luke welcomed the clouds of steam that wafted his way, sinking back into the water as Han cleaned him off.

What injuries, Luke had sustained from his x-wing’s crash landing couldn’t stand a chance of being concealed even when Luke stood to undress, arms going over to cover parts of his body Han didn’t have the slightest interest in looking at. At the same time, Han almost had to kick himself from openly gnawing at his knuckles when Luke took off his tunic, revealing the worst of his injuries.

It showed all over, blatant in exhibiting the horrifying extent of damage on the young man’s body and Luke’s futile attempts to shield whatever dignity he felt needed to preserve held Han on the edge of swallowing pride, just so he could spare a few words of comfort or reassurance.  
  


Be damned if he ever did, however—  
  


Whatever transpired out there, on the Death Star, or wherever Luke was when he decided on running away from his _daddy_ — Han didn’t know, and he wasn’t so sure he wanted to know much about it now. Especially after noting Luke’s body, how the creamy expanse of waxen skin littered itself with an assortment of blemishes in all shapes and sizes, deep maroon cicatrices to pale raised scars, what wounds scattered over chest and back appeared to be in various stages of healing.

Han distinguished from experience not all of these injuries could be accounted from battle, and was rather confident in his conviction. A couple blaster burns here and there, some healed well enough that he couldn’t quite determine how Luke had received such an injury — there was an idea that had Han running between sixes and sevens because—  
  


“ _Ah_!”  
  


Luke flinched visibly when Han applied too much pressure to a deep, bloodied wound underneath Luke’s right pectoral and Han bounced back fretfully whilst tucking away an automatic apology. To his surprise, Luke’s cry was accompanied by his elevating a hand up from the water, waving rapidly to cast reassurance. “Don’t worry, you grazed a sensitive area is all. The blood wasn’t wiped off properly s-so it’s coming off in layers — ahngh, _owch_ — h-hurts a bit is all.”

“Tell me when I’m bein’ too rough. I can’t tell when my hands are underwater.”

Working the washcloth over Luke’s shoulder, Han shifted his short stool to the side and resumed in wiping away caked grime, muck, and grass pasted over ghostly pale shoulders. Han questioned how in the hell this kid managed to get this dirty if his clothing had only seemed mildly tattered, perhaps a bit singed on some ends, a few rips here and there on black trousers… After another run down of Luke’s old apparel in his head, Han conceded that his clothing might be a little worse off than he initially thought, but it was overall nowhere near the godsdamned cake of mud that lay underneath.

Luke had probably got himself lost in the marshes or had saturated all the soils that clung to his skin in the crash when he took a dive into their livestock well. Han grimaced and made a mental note to tell Elka they might not want to use that water supply until the droids go down to filter out sediments.

Han grumbled then, “Okay, now put your head down so I can get to the back of your head,” and Luke spontaneously shot him a look Han had trouble running down for himself. What capricious temper Han saw the kid parade times prior wasn’t riddled on that boyish face.

No, not anymore. Not after Elka had left the two of them to get started on bathing. Ever since his sister withdrew to attend her own business, the so-called prince of the Empire willingly yielded, disposition verging capitulate and whatever qualms Han held on the matter served in ripening already pellucid skepticism.

“Do you want me to say bow — your _worship_? — ‘cause I didn’t count on that one gettin’ me very far, so, I tried to work ‘round it for your own sake.”

Bright lazuline eyes flickered down, contemplating to himself, and in the meantime, Han waited with a thinning forbearance so Luke could think about whatever the hell he needed to measure out when it came to bending one’s head down so he could scrub clotted soil from their ears.

Dropping his head to rest on his fist, Han scanned down his favorite cream shirt, thankfully his vest was already discarded before they began and Han felt particularly grateful of his inherent aptitude for his lower half was partly drenched in grimy water.

Han, originally being a fisherman’s son, then turned sea sailor while growing up on Corellia, though, cut short since he took the flight the instant he hit his teens, didn’t at all mind getting his hands dirty on occasion. On the other hand, this was not such an occurrence. It primarily riled Han on behalf of the fact that large, numerous wet splotches eventually cooled down to a frigid iciness that drew acerbic breaths from him when soaking wet fabric pressed up to chill his abdomen, generating pointless envy for the kid soaking in heated water, albeit murky, dirty hot water — but hot water nonetheless.

Corellia’s cold seasons had come early this year and Han could feel the cool breezes penetrate the thick cloth tents even though yesterday’s soggy humid heat had him perspiring bullets before noon.

Han yawned as Luke battled to comb his fingers through the mud fouled tresses, a color Han assumed in being fairish from what he could remember in the past. Dark silt dripped down to reveal brightening strands of hair, which plainly confirmed his hunch. Murky water lines made a slow descent on Luke's pale shoulders, dribbling down marred skin and slid effortlessly over smooth cicatrices. The prince gave one more shot in raking and he succeeded, combing through it just once, but his hair sat just as stiff if not worse than before.

Luke’s call echoed out of the blue, jarring Han from his reflections as the voice split through bleary awareness. A question, Han assumed, but didn’t catch, “What was that?” Han wiped his forehead and mounted a brow at Luke, marginally rattled by yet another unexpected reaction from Luke. Eyebrows squeezed together, a look of discomfort supplemented his grimace and a distinct rumble slipped out as a hand coasted up high, cupping the lower half of his nape.

Han opened his mouth to form a shrewd remark, but refrained from doing so without any particular reason. Maybe Luke’s weird behavior got to him, messed with his head since Han only ever marked him as a majestic Sith prince with a rod shoved up his ass, that, and being bestowed the rank of a commander— a general later, and given to him just _because_.

Of course, Luke ordinarily wielded a lightsaber or at least had one strapped to his person at all times, so that kept Han from adding anything else to top those private thoughts. For a second, he wondered if Luke still had his weapon at all, then dismissed it as fast as he had posed the question. Luke only had the clothes on his back when hauled to his family’s land.

Either way, Han never accepted any prospect to riposte something smart, words bolted from him as he hadn’t bargained in seeing such a wistful look on that once proud looking face. It was pathetic— _almost_ — Han thought to himself as Luke stirred awkwardly in the water, an unusual batter of shame and hurt converging together to pull at Han’s nature.

There was something about this moment, something more to it than just what could be perceived by eye—

“I—… do thank you for helping me, Captain Solo, I’m really grateful for the hospitality I’ve been honored with but...” Luke hesitated again, dodging Han’s look, “but if you want to help me clean my neck, I should forewarn you to be as careful as you possibly can — or else you may very well kill me by accident.”

A few long seconds in reticence granted Han the ability to make up his mind on whether or not he should inquire about such a dangerous reality or just go with what Luke requested of him and simply rub the cloth really lightly over the nape of Luke’s neck.

Swift to realize the latter was ridiculous, Han squinted at the boy, “Yeah, I can be careful for ya, so long as you tell me why touching your neck might kill you?”  
“It’s none of your business, I don’t think I have to explain myself. If you want, you can skip over the area and I will try to do it myself.” Luke peacefully resigned himself to rest against the tub, sinking a fraction lower into the water, but ceased movement pointedly when the water level rapidly approached shoulder height.

Han’s scrutiny didn’t let up, and for once, Han didn’t counter with something he knew would get the other kid firing off something fierce back at him. “If you wanna stay dirty, then be my guest.” Han sniffed, flapping the darkened washcloth he used on Luke. Specks of muddy rock and blades of grass flew off, “You’re only insulting the kid brother of a clan leader, not the leader herself… but you may as well be ‘cause, well— I’m her _blood_.”

Luke’s hung head gradually began to rise and incredulity slowly ascended alongside it. His lips parted, closed, then parted again, seemingly at a loss for words. “But… I didn’t… I didn’t say...”

Finding Luke hadn’t anticipated any rejoinder, Han now felt even better about his reasoning in regards to the circumstances, “Aside from that, I ain't gonna touch you anywhere else until I get a decent answer — ‘n don’t tell me it’s ‘cause you have an affinity for your hair being only touched by you. What if I just stuck my finger in your armpit — you giggle ‘n snort like any other guy — then karkin' _die_ on me outta nowhere? What the hell am I gonna tell Elka if that happens?”

Han had gestured at random to underscore his statement, intending to come off grave seeing as to how it would be a feasible event if Luke had told the truth and Han somehow inadvertently killed him anyway. Elka would probably skin him in seconds.

Han was taken aback when the younger man snorted without warning, and what he heard next could have been the most dulcet laughter Han Solo had ever heard in all his twenty-nine years of existence.  
  


Now, Han had been around the galaxy more than enough times.  
  


Splitting home so early and promptly getting mixed up with Jabba’s smuggling ring in the backwaters of the galaxy before he even hit twenty years old had set him in good order. And as he toiled in clearing his substantial debt, Han saw plenty of things.

He ate various things he might not want to try again; he touched things he didn’t quite want to remember the texture of; he met people he didn’t necessarily care for meeting a second time; in conjunction with that, Han had heard a lot of things in his life, but never had he crossed paths with something quite as mellifluous as the way Luke laughed.

Sweet sounding, practically bordering euphoric, glazed over with frill syrup, and topped with some godsdamned ripened reythan berries.

Han momentarily searched his thoughts, mentally demanding why the hell he complimented the prince of an Empire that sought to destroy everything the galaxy still held dear. Luke wasn’t stupid, Han had easily deduced that long before he exchanged two words with the boy. Witnessing him in combat with his own two eyeballs had credited enough proof that Luke was no mere figurehead in the royal family despite the impression the galaxy may have on him.

Luke had spirit and damn too much for his own good sometimes. Whoever the hell pinned Luke Skywalker as a pampered, coddled, delicate little prince ended up being so wide off the skrogging mark that Han could’ve cried when he had witnessed what the so-called fragile prince could _actually_ do.

Han could see lucid recollections playing clearly in his head; Luke doing all sorts of flips and tricks in the air, in one way or another managing to gracefully land on the other side of the miles-long battlefield before Han had even put a finger as to what in the Sith hells was buzzing around in his peripheral field as he tried fleeing the war zone. Given, Han wasn’t exactly supporting the battle himself, nor had he been sided with a specific faction.

In fact, Han — being bluntly technical about it, had been unwittingly entangled in the crossfire a few months back. He and his first mate were then captured and hauled to Coruscant to be presented as a public example of the Empire’s direct influence; how capable they were in being able to change everything for the better; to show just how well they were handling things when it came to cleaning out scum in all corners of the galaxy, and how much better off the universe would be without criminals such as them to stain the silken hankies of polished aristocrats.

Han had always deemed it odd how well ephemeral memories managed to always manifest themselves into something that could very well be mistaken as real, to be utterly convinced past events were truly playing all over again.

Through this very process, Han unintentionally plunged himself straight into the past, and acrimony soon followed to bubble over as he remembered who exactly was seated in front of him. Mucilaginous and virulent, it had coated his tongue in short order. Han wanted nothing more than to march out his tent to find Elka, maybe try to knock some sense into his older sister by pointing her to their reality, so he could ask her if she had been deprived of all reason to bring him _here_.

She _knew_ what The Empire had done to him, what they had done to Chewie while imprisoned; Han only had his quick thinking and wits to thank for getting out of there alive, and with all his limbs and fingers still attached to his person. It was a time in his life that he didn't categorize as pleasant to reminisce over.

Because it was also around that point in time that Han had finally met Luke face to face.  
  


Well, to some degree.  
  


Han rolled his eyes and subdued his swelled emotions and kicked aside pointless rampant reflections of the past. There would be time to talk to his sister later.

He decided to eye Luke as he shifted his legs in the fair-sized tub and his concern was only fleeting. The bathing tub didn’t come close to being an extravagant one, seeing as to how Luke could only fit his lower half in. If Luke decided to sink down as much as he could, Han guessed the water would rise up to neck height. Cramped as hell, but at least the warmth could loosen up the stiff limbs Luke often complained about under his breath.

“So am I just going to have to skip over your neck or what? Water’s getting cold ‘n Elka’s not afraid to toss me off a cliff.”

Han made an effort to not drift away in thought again, to try and blank his mind of lingering bitterness, and it would have worked too if it weren't for Luke laughing at his comment again. The same laughter as before, merely a touch louder and less restrained.

It was then Han noticed there was something burgeoning inside him — entirely unknown — avidly tugging at the corners of his mouth, and it had stretched his lips into a toothless grin at the sight of Luke brushing cut up fingers over his lips, attempting to stifle simpatico chuckles to no avail. When had he even begun to smile? He didn't remember.

 _This is really surreal,_ Han thought absently to himself, one of his hands going up to scratch the side of his scalp as he began to smile stupidly at such a lovely sight— who would’ve thought crude humor would tickle his worship’s sides?

If someone had asked Han if Prince Luke Skywalker was anything close to being pleasant company, he would have laughed until it finally snowed on Tatooine.  
Here he was, though, outright grinning along with Luke.

But of course, as against expectation Luke stood capable of being, he also managed to flip the tables on Han with the same sense of ease.

What was customarily found roaring intensely at all times was dimmed, and significantly so. Luke’s fiery blue gaze instead attenuated down to burn as a faint, glowing ember. Dirty blond fringe flopped over in a heap as brown rivulets raced down one side of Luke’s cheek and he tilted his head, his chapped lips formed into a slim, ostensibly reserved smile.

For all practical purposes, Luke’s smile had essentially struck Han more or less stupid for a junction of three seconds or more, and he owed it to what he beheld. Luke was utterly _stunning_ when he smiled.

It was the unequivocal truth, and Han failed to chalk up anything else to say. However, Luke seemed through with further private considerations on the matter. Sadly, he preserved a mere inkling of that same smile that had fallen seconds after rising. “If I tell you… Do you promise not to use it against me?”

First and foremost, Han would have dared to agree in order to hear Luke out. Perhaps he would take his divulgement and file it away somewhere safe, so, one day it would prove useful to him. Be it sold as black market intel, intel for the Rebel Alliance or just something to have handy if Luke were to try to kill him and his clan one day — Han was then coolly aware of the warmth rapidly leaving his person.

Whether Han liked the prince as a person or not didn’t change the background he hailed from; _Luke is a Sith apprentice, and he is the Imperial army's iron fist alongside his father._

So. after squashing his habitual impudence, Han managed his best at coming off casual and joking, “What’s wrong with you, kid? Did The Empire put a chip in your neck or what?”

Han had heard the horror stories before in the past, in the lost era of the fallen republic; cloned troopers marched with implanted chips in their heads, and if orders weren’t followed, death was inescapable. Cynical at heart, Han had deemed the tales far too outrageous. After all, why would they implant that into the _son_ of the Empire—

Luke’s shoulders shot up, dropping back down as fast as they had risen, and he nodded, “Not quite, but more or less, yes, I do have an attachment to my neck.”

“But _why_ do you have one?” Han hiked up an eyebrow, inquisitive hazel eyes raked up from Luke’s collar bones and coasted toward what vicinity of neck Han could discern from where he sat. “I didn’t think I’d ever have to ask this; but why would a prince need a _loyalty_ chip?”

“It’s not exactly a behavioral chip, but it does affect me in some ways.” Luke then dipped his head downward, at long last allowing Han to see where exactly his fingers had ghosted over and over as they talked. Just beyond the junction of where the cervical vertebrae greeted Luke's spinal cord, a thin, supine rod embedded itself into his skin, black and flashing red on occasion.

Han stood up from his stool and examined the piece of tech a little closer, moderately baffled by the design of it. No, he didn't like this. He didn't like where this was going at all. Curiosity took control of his hands and he raised them to touch. Playing it safe, Han only traced the device where he had seen Luke stroke, troubled he could set off whatever the hell it was.

“Okay... So, what does it do to ya? Who the hell put this on you?”

“They call this device a force inhibitor.” Luke gradually reared his head, driving Han to capitulate his own roaming hands as well.

Still fingering the area, Luke stared down at the murky water he sat in, donning a vacuous countenance Han deemed too disconcerting for his taste, “It takes away my force abilities and renders me rather useless as a… as a _Jedi_.”

At that moment, Luke peered up at him, something in that expression putting a clear match to what he said next.  
  


“And I’m the one who put it on. I installed it the day I deserted the Empire.”  
  



	3. Chapter 3

 

Luke whisked off his arms and rose shakily, meticulous in continuing his task of sweeping off the rest of his body to shed himself of accumulated dust. If there was anything Luke disliked the most, he disliked looking improper. His upbringing supplied perpetual reminder in being attentive of how he presented himself, and to Luke’s complete irritation, his apparel was in absolute disarray. Luke grimaced at the sight of his tattered robes. His father would not have ever forgiven him if he walked out in something like this.

Rearing up his elbows to browse over his tunic, Luke peered down to assess what other ruin his once impeccable attire had sustained. Though Luke understood there was no need for him to dress, he did it anyway since he hadn’t worn actual clothing in days or — at least for what felt like more than a week. And that in itself was enough to make Luke uncomfortable. Just seeing how incredibly complaisant he had become... Luke’s progression to recovery had been slow, proving to seem like it was at a near standstill at times. Luke had been granted the dour responsibility to reflect on anything and everything his mind had been capable of conjuring up.

One of the questions that rang noisily in his conscience more often than not, had been why — _why_ was he being so docile? Conversely, Luke had no desire to light any fuse that could potentially burn him to slag while in the current state he was in. Either way, the question occupied his subconscious.

It had been ever since Luke had found himself falling acquiescent to Han, following whatever he desired in Luke doing. Going as far as to follow Han’s reluctant guidance of swaddling a quilt round himself if anyone marched in as he tried to recover; this way, he would administer the required air flow to wounds that received restricted bacta treatment. He hated that he looked so improper, yet he obeyed anyway?

Albeit thoroughly purged of muck and blood, his clothing performed excellently in reflecting the image of his unremitting inner turmoil. Shredded and torn from head to toe and right shoulder sleeve just about ravaged to pieces by the fires of the wreck. The outer coat had absorbed most of the impact. Luke figured that was why the clan never returned it to him. It probably didn’t survive a single washing for it was far too ragged and frayed to endure even the slightest bit of stretching.

He stared at it, then pulled at the edge of his black tunic with consideration and rubbed the tail between his fingers. A faint sigh escaped his chapped lips as he realized that a mere few inches to the right of where he thumbed had been where the standard placement of the Empire’s branded emblem would have been stamped; and all of a sudden, Luke no longer paid any mind to the state of his clothing, and he allowed the nagging thoughts to fade posthaste.

Let his beginnings be damned, banished to a new, broad horizon, one _infinite_ in possibility! ... — Forcing a small, fraudulent snort of self-derisive amusement at himself, Luke breathed softly while staring down at the cloth, ready to give whatever he had left to his name to make his fantasy a reality.

If only new tidings were that simple and easy to come by. If that were so, Luke would be more than willing to participate in setting fire to his entire tailored wardrobe of his Empire’s uniforms. If only he had the chance to experience another life, take great pleasure in having a different origin where he hadn’t been raised by two Sith lords; hadn’t been deprived of the love of a mother, and bereaved of his association with his twin sister, and loving uncle — wherever they were now...

Shaking his head to quickly expel the manifesting vision of his mother from his mind, Luke then caught a smell that wrinkled his nose and effectively voided mental thought.

The smell was unquestionably pungent enough to unsettle. Where was it coming from? He sniffed a few more times down the length of his arms and his underarms as well as hands prior to coming to reason that the fume was not emanating from himself, and it didn’t seem he would be finding the source anytime soon. The thought prompted Luke to muse over general hygiene.

The bath he took with Han Solo played vividly at night, behind screened cerulean eyes, and he held still to reclaim the memory of Han gawking at him, his face conveying thorough disbelief of such an outré statement.

Albeit undeterred from Han’s understandable reaction, Luke recapitulated all the years he had lost to the Empire, divulging all furtive outlines he prepared over the preceding years and imparted his solemn longings for the day he could seize an opportunity to escape. Luke eventually shed light on why he installed the debilitating impediment — revealing that it was all in the effort to dampen his force signature from his father. Luke attached the force inhibitor in advance, inserting it into his neck the night before his escape.

It had proved in being an excruciating operation to perform alone whilst in the privacy of his quarters, but after the device had lodged into his neck with mild difficulty despite the circumstances, racing solace soon mounted to uplift quaking spirits threatening to capsize at any moment.

When he’d stolen away into the night, climbing into his x-wing and lifting off Coruscant’s capital with heartbeat thumping so rapidly he feared for chances of capitulating to numerous resounding fears. To either turn his ship around or essentially black out before he even had the opportunity to breach the atmosphere. Notwithstanding the clear cut dismay, as his ship’s altitude increased, so had Luke’s courage. Brittle resolution rose like the x-wing he was piloting with his own two hands.  
  


He had to do it— then and there.  
  


To be fully severed from his connection to the force, a power he felt for as long as he could remember, never once without it to conduct him, guide him through his trials. Even as darkness had grown to consume his father, Luke had always cradled a faint light inside him. Trepidation triggered a rise to a deafening, finalizing crescendo when he conceived a transient feasibility that he could snub whatever light remained if he were to seal off the nexus to the powers that dictated his very life since he was a boy.

Otherwise, his father would sense the expanding distance of his son, and Luke’s punctilious forethought would have been for naught. The circumstances had been uncomplicated in nature, just flip on the force inhibitor or else his father would march down the senate halls, eyes glinting that daunting, fearsome crimson with centered flecks of lacquered gold.

From the focal point of his neck, painful throbs echoed to wrack his body. Reality began to collide with memory — he felt elevation fluctuating air pressures, an upshot forcing a pop in his ears, and Luke suddenly grit his teeth. His recollections had induced shudders all over again— like before — when he had snaked a trembling hand behind his head to—  
  


“Are you alright?”  
  


Piercing through the dizzying spirals of immediate alarm, Luke peered up, gaze bridging with a vivid, arctic blue set of eyes amplifying with flourishing concern. The sight of a girl so close to him without sensing any person’s arrival had him stepping back out of reflex. His bare foot caught the edge of the sleeping mat, causing him to stumble astern. Her movements were instantaneous, like a blaster shot, the young woman was behind him, out of nowhere instead of standing in front of him. Her gentle palms received Luke’s elbows, and she balanced him without difficulty.

“I’m sorry,” she began when Luke froze up for an instant, then released him to rebound from her steadying grasp, “I didn’t mean to startle you! I said your name a number of times, but you didn’t reply so I...”

“No— I, uh— was thinking to myself a little too intensely is all.”

After an awkward cough into his fist, he turned around, looking only somewhat up at the girl taller than him. Luke now recognized her as the one he rescued around what he calculated at being a week ago. From behind his fist, Luke stated the obvious, “So, you must be Han Solo’s sister.”

The young woman smiled cordially, lips stretching widely. She nodded while lifting the ends of her long maroon dress for a brief curtsey at him. Platinum, near white locks of blonde, snaked out from her intricately patterned braids, and she rose to swiftly tuck away stray hairs falling on her face. “I’m Astri Solo, the youngest sister in the immediate line. And you — you’re Luke Skywalker, aren’t you? You’re the one who saved me from the raiders?”

There wasn’t any logical reason to flinch the way that he did, at least, Luke believed there shouldn’t be any preëxisting rational motive as to why he recoiled at what she asked. Astri wasn’t mistaken, and Luke could tell she was well acquainted with the answer to her own question. He speculated she had inquired anyway by reason of the fact she wanted to confirm it for herself. And that was fine. Except, something about Astri’s tone spurred Luke to chew on his lower lip.

For what had scrawled wildly upon her fair features was hope, admiration, confidence in _him_ — and there was something else, something he had thus far named for himself. Whatever it was, it had spun tightly into her straightforward inquiries, and it grounded him from uttering some such irrational sentiment to brutally disrupt the real, bitter realities, and show her that her beloved rescuer turned out in being one of the most despised men in the entire galaxy.

It seemed that in the face of apprehending that pronounced fact, Astri’s hemmed enthusiasm hadn’t teetered in the slightest. Her cheerful demeanor was in approach to stark contradiction to what she said next, “You don’t have to acknowledge me if you don’t want to. You already suffered so much before saving me, and you ended up getting even more hurt because of me… I came here to thank you, but I understand if you’re not wanting any company for some time.”

He began shaking his head before Astri even finished, “Please, don’t worry about it. Your family clan has done more than enough to repay me. I’m alive despite everything that happened, and I survived the fall down the well too. So, I don’t think I can really complain about anything.”

As he chuckled at his own words, Astri mistook his self-disdain as general amusement to lighten the atmosphere. Her hands fiddled below her stomach, mustering up fortitude at the same time she tested to crush her ever rising demure.

When Luke smiled or laughed, it was as though rays of sunlight burst through deeply overcast, nights that stormed heavily, lost at sea and without any hope at all. At such a comparison, Astri now wished her stupid brother would have warned her of Luke Skywalker’s charms.

“Uhm,” Astri began, delicate rose lips parted only to clamp shut. At once, she floundered back toward the entrance of Luke’s tent and swiped a set of folded clothing Luke knew hadn’t been there before. “I–I heard about your clothing dilemma so I tailored some of Han’s old clothing to fit you. I would have mended your robes before, but I wasn’t sure If I needed permission or anything since I haven’t been able to see you until now so — here, here you go.”

Luke blinked at the set of clothing dropped in his arms, rather bewildered by her explosion of flustered behavior. This woman wasn’t anything at all like Han Solo or Elka Solo; Astri didn’t appear in being the kind to sport a bad temper nor did she seem to have the adroitly savvy qualities that defined the clan leader. On the other hand, Luke saw a clear correspondence to Han.

Han and Astri looked nothing alike, in fact, they looked rather opposite of each other.  
  


Han’s tanned skin, dark eyes, and hair…

Astri’s fair skin, bright blue eyes, and near white hair...  
  


But Luke still identified family resemblances in the way they talked and carried themselves.

He thanked her, then stared down at a beautiful fabric underneath a pair of brown pants and single black shirt. Untucking a bright, colorful fabric from the rest, it unfurled in his hand and reached the floor with a thump. Luke’s eyes widened, genuine curiosity sparking at the sight. Its design was certainly unique and quite breathtaking, nothing like Luke had ever seen before.

Elevating his grip on the lengthy fabric, he studied it with a conspicuous, flattering sense of interest. “This is incredibly beautiful, but… It’s far too big for me to wear as a shirt or — I’m… I’m not sure what it is. I don’t mean to offend, but I grew up with formal wear. I’ve only seen certain tribal and traditional wears in holo-images. Am I supposed to sleep with this? Is it a blanket?” Out of everything, Luke hoped it wasn’t a dress.

Whilst sweetly explaining, she folded the long garment into her arms and shook her head. She held it up to her shoulders to display it. “No, this is a tribal garment, I’m sorry I didn’t explain the reason behind why I also made this for you first. This one wasn’t Han’s or anything, I actually made this one myself for you.”

Astri presented the robe the way, Luke surmised, was customarily worn, and beamed at him. Her eyes a dazzling sleek blue, “You don’t have to wear it now, but when the celebration begins, you may want to already be familiar with how to move around with it on. Everyone will have their own unique set of clothing. It’s nothing religiously traditional, don’t worry about that, it’s something my sister likes to do to spice up our festivals.”

“… I’m supposing there’s an upcoming festival?” This was news to him. These past few days had gone by in a blur, all in all, Luke had slept his days away, depressed and fearing his future.

Hesitating only briefly, he accepted the handmade gift after resigning to the fact that if he were to reject it out of apprehension, it would do more harm than prove him to have any admirable ethics. Luke slowly held it to his shoulders in the same manner Astri had, “… I’m— I’m invited?”

Astri tilted her head at him, brows quick to draw together, “Nobody told you? I —”

“Astri, what’re you doin’ in here?”

Han stood poised underneath the tent flap, suspended in animation as his wide eyes soon narrowed at the sight of his sister and the prince of the Empire standing together — _alone_ , on top of that.

Before Han decided to drop in on the kid and check on his status, Han sought to find his youngest sister. He remembered her shy statement of wanting to give something in return for Luke having saved her life, and so he had suggested a new change of clothing that would actually fit the young man. Han deemed it was a good thing too, Luke needed new clothing badly.

For Han already tried pulling out his own spare sets in hopes he could find something that would fit Luke’s frame. Alas, their height difference was far too substantial and his older clothing was given away or sold for credits in the past.

Han didn’t bother with being inconspicuous. Astri could tell he even wanted to come off as an irrefutable threat, her hunch was beyond a shadow of a doubt. Astri's cordial demeanor offset severely as Han unabashedly raked his eyes down Luke’s form, and then his sister’s. Seeing no apparent indication things had taken a turn for the worse didn’t do well to abate his mounting petulance.

Ducking into the tent, Han stomped over to his little sister and hooked his arm with hers, dragging her to the side of the tent as Luke observed impassively, only mildly bemused at the situation. His deducing skills weren’t close to being elementary, and he could hear them quite clearly, but Luke had turned a deaf ear to disregard their conversation all the same.

In all honesty, Luke hurt enough as it was. Left weakened and alone to lick at his wounds, he knew better than to parade obtrusive susceptibility in front of people he didn’t know he could trust. Luke snorted quietly at the thought. It wasn’t like he ever had anyone he could trust before in the past.

Han corralled the blonde youth into a corner, whispering heatedly down at her, “Astri—! What in the Sith hells did I tell you about seeing this guy? I _told_ you to stay away from his quarters. I _told_ you to never come here alone. What’re you even doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you were gonna go see him today?”

“I remember what you said to me, and I realize that you didn’t want me going to talk to him. You wouldn’t let up security for the longest time! — And I wasn’t talking to him anyway… I was just giving him that new set of clothing I talked about making a few days ago. I finished it late last night and I gave it to him. He got a little confused about something and all I did was elucidate.”

Astri crossed her arms defensively when her brother scowled, “Besides, he saved my _life_ , Han. I felt more than obliged in thanking him, and that’s exactly what I did too. Nothing happened. I don’t think I should have to tell you about something as simple as wanting to _thank_ someone.

“I wouldn’t give a single damn if it was anyone else, but this guy ain’t just your average _ekster_ who'd decided to immigrate to Corellia ‘cause he’s lookin’ for new _job_ opportunities on a different planet.”

Luke was positive that no matter where he stood within the tent, he wouldn’t be able to avert his eyes from the scene. Not only was the tent just a fair size, their suppressed whispering hardly masked heated innuendo. Taking hold of the gift he received from Astri, he considered his earlier apprehensive thoughts anew and wondered if it would appease Han if he backed down and further yielded to Han’s set rules. As much as Luke hated the impression Han may have had about him, he understood natures of wariness and precaution.

A loud, annoyed groan prompted him to look up. Han had his head tipped back in exasperation whereas Astri maintained a determined demeanor even as she stomped up to him. Her attitude fluctuated between annoyance and conciliatory as the distance between them shrank.

“It was very nice meeting you, Prince Skywalker,” she sniffled, and Han groaned even louder from where he stood, provoking her to throw a searing glare over her shoulder before turning back. Astri’s countenance was pleasantly replaced once more, “… But I’m afraid my obtuse, insensitive, _pigheaded_ —"

 _“Watch it,_ Astriva!” Han barked from across the tent, index finger shot her way.

“— brother wants me to retire to my quarters for the day.” Slowly, Astri turned back to him, viciously adding, “I then told him it’s barely past noon, but it seems the sun and moon in the sky have no affiliation to my brother’s _keen sense_ of awareness.”

“I _know_ what goddamn time it is, missy, don’t take me so literally!”

When Luke now turned back to Astri from Han, Astri’s eyes had rolled dramatically as she halfheartedly quirked a brow at her brother’s outcry. If the situation were any different, Luke supposed he would have had the gall to openly laugh at the ridiculous nature of everything. Except, circumstances wouldn’t magically change no matter how much he longed for it. Luke came to learn that long ago.

Perhaps Han had expected him to defend the very background he had desperately tried to disassociate himself with but to no avail. Luke didn’t know what it was. All he knew was that his head couldn’t manage those kinds of thoughts at the moment. In the end, he merely nodded at her, his indisputable surrender a transparent sort of melancholy.

What rudimentary amusement there was caved in, and Astri pursed her lips at his weak smile of reassurance. Han told her that the man who saved her life would be kept from harm, medically treated, and fed as much as he could eat...

All of it was true; Astri knew her brother well enough to be confident that he wouldn’t withhold the truth from her, even if it was the Empire’s prince they were dealing with. Yet there was this burgeoning disquiet that echoed after Luke had smiled at her. It seemed so ready in rupturing sound reasoning. And maybe it already did.

Sky-blue eyes somewhat akin to her own, bolstered an explicit sort of dysphoria, far from blatant, and certainly not something Astri knew Han would be able to understand with ease. Her heart suddenly felt like a rock after seeing the man that saved her life in near ruin before her.

So, it seemed that what Elka had told her had been right. Luke's much more than what they ever thought he was, and after seeing it with her own eyes, Astri felt startlingly aware of where exactly Luke stood in this all, and how he must be feeling. Her chest tightened at the flood of comprehension.

With that weight in mind, Astri smiled sweetly at Luke and squeezed his forearm. It was a silent act of assurance. Then she turned on her heel, dragging her brother out of the tent with her. Luke watched unruffled as Han mouthed off every curse known in Corellian as he stumbled out the tent flap.

Once outside and out of earshot, she let go of his arm and glared up at her brother. Her hands clasped to her hips, “What are you going to do with him when he’s completely healed?”

“What’re you meanin’ by that? When Prince _Heartthrob_ over there heals up — uh, it might be a couple of months seein’ how his arm’s still banged up pretty bad. I don’t think he could pilot a ship now even if he wanted to.”

Han rubbed his chin in thought, noted a scuff on his boot and mused out loud, “but I guess when the time comes for him to go, we’ll hand him some spare credits. Let him be on his way ‘n be out of our hair already. When he’s finally gone, Elka’s not going to want to throttle me for wanting to get off planet and back to my work.”

Solo completed his future plan of action with a pleased smile, then brushed some non-existent dust from his shoulders and arms, entertaining himself long enough to apprehend Astri had expected a very different answer from him. Her rigid stance and sullen glower from nowhere spelled it out for him.

Gradually slanting his gaze at his sister, Han began to shake his head madly, eyes narrowing at the same time that he realized what exactly Astri had implied within her inquiry.

Han’s finger raised to point at her accusingly, and he squinted at the blonde youth before him. At first, he was comparatively uncertain of his sneaking suspicion and then utter conviction set him straight when Astri’s lips twisted down severely. Astri’s arms went to cross over her chest in a similar fashion to her brother’s mannerism in order to parallel Han’s rapidly intensifying wild appearance.

“Ohh no, no — _no_ , Astri— we are _not_ gonna let him stay no matter how much you beg ‘n plead. Give up _now_ while you still got some dignity left.”

“Work — don’t you mean getting yourself mixed into some kind of trouble and barely getting out alive every time?” Astri gave a loud, unmediated scoff, and tucked stray locks of flaxen hair behind her ear. Contempt had tightened her voice and it proved in being the perfect concoction to fire Han up. “I didn’t say anything about keeping him here, Han! But if what he says is true — that he’s defected from the Empire, then I say we should help him.”

“And _who_ in the Sithspit hells told you that? Did _he_ tell you?”

Han shot an enraged glare in the direction of his own tent where Luke was. Fury buried alive what little trust Han had built up with the prince, and all at once, what times they spent chatting through the hours of early morning, the meals they ate together in peaceful silence, and many excruciating applications of bacta treatment to Luke’s wounds flew right out the porthole.

Han felt his sleeve being jerked, jarring him from quilted hazes of rage, and he turned, abruptly measuring his words carefully. Despite wanting to give into anger, Han was disinclined to snap at his sister for simply having a good heart. These matters never presented themselves in straightforward shades of blacks and whites. Instead, they always came with a spectrum of tones, and an array of hues to take into account as well.

Han knew they couldn’t do much more and the circumstances were just that crystalline to him. Now, if only Astri could see that. “We’ve helped him more than enough. I saved his life twice — if anything, it’s two he owes _me_. But I’m being nice about it. We’re takin' care of him despite everything he's done, 'n I'm not gonna be collecting on the life debts he owes me, so, what's not fair about this? Luke doesn’t need any more special treatment from us, he's gotten enough. Even if he did, we can't deliver ‘cause we barely got enough supplies to sustain ourselves. He can take care of himself just fine. And if not, that's just how it’s gonna have to be.”

Hot and inadvertently aimed low, Astri seethed at her brother. “That’s not what _Avo_ would want. Grandfather would want us to help him.”

Han hadn’t heard Astri speak of their past for quite some time now, for far longer than he cared to recall, and Han curbed his surprise by swiftly clipping away the profanity that jeopardized him to nearly slander their late grandfather. Jonash e Solo; the last monarch to the collapsed Corellian Empire; and above all, the man who engendered its very downfall with eyes wide open.

“We’re not royals anymore.” Han spat, “He doesn’t have anything to give that would help us now.”

“But there is something. Don’t you remember his famous sayings? You know which one I’m talking about. You couldn’t have forgotten since you’ve practically been blindly following it. You saving Luke twice says it all.” Astri knew she hadn’t needed to ask nor had she needed to rehash anything, but she couldn’t restrain herself in time, and the old Corellisi tumbled out. The elongated consonants rolled off her tongue in waves, “ _Ihn Corellisi nyeve min bhiq suman ehin nyiad_ ; a Corellian never turns his back on someone in need.”

A vitriolic storm that conjured from within him drove him to walk down a direct warpath, Astri being his only obstacle. “So give me one good reason as to why we gotta follow anything he said? Look where his beliefs got us. Actually, take a good look at where it got me!” Han swung his arms toward everything that environed them, “I saved his life for no reason, really, 'n I nearly get spaced trying to help a guy who’d almost killed me the last time we met. Somehow, I meet him again. And maybe I didn't skroggin' know it was him in the x-wing or him in the water sump either. That still counts. But what do I get? A load of bantha fodder right up to my _neck_ from _you_ , him, Elka — _drok_ — 'n you wanna bring _Avo_ into this? Of all people?”

Half laughing, half scoffing, he continued, "We’re living day by day with not a single goddamn credit to our name anymore because of him. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not wanting any fame or credits from _his_ worship either, long gone or not. Our beloved grandfather ended the rule when we needed the unification the most. He knew that Palpatine was lookin’ worse every passing day. And this is the result of his carelessness."

“He couldn’t have known about the empire Palpatine wanted to create for himself,” Astri yielded, for now. It seemed that bringing up their late grandfather was a bad approach when Han was angry. No one would be spared of their faults when Han came apart at the seams. “ _Avo_ Jonash couldn’t have possibly seen it at the time, he was too sickly by then.”

“Yeah, well, the so-called _allies_  he’d made, failed to protect us from the first invasion, us havin’ to fight ourselves, us losing almost a quarter of Corellia’s entire population by the time the second one rolled 'round to wipe the rest of us out... To this day I can’t wrap my head around why he thought Corellia was ready for a democracy at the time when we were nowhere near it! Avo never should’ve made such a huge decision for a generation he wouldn't even be alive to see, much less be in. So, yeah — you can say he couldn’t have known about a lot of things that would end up happenin', but the fact is, he screwed us over the second he finalized Corellia's reform, and it's just that simple. So drop it, Astri, 'cause I'm losing patience with how you're defending his actions even though you weren't even born to see _half_ the shavit that happened.”

Words Astri wanted to say clogged in her throat for good reason, understanding that the second she sounded even the slightest bit imploring would simply finalize her brother’s resolution on the matter. Assaying another method, Astri arranged her anxieties and put them up in the air.

“The Empire will find him in no time. They’ll hunt him down to either kill him or take him back. While I don’t know what Darth Vader would do to his son… I don’t think Vader would kill him then and there — when and if he finds him, but I can’t imagine the punishments they’d give a Sith apprentice for disobeying their master and going as far as running away.”

Her articulations stumbled, frustration stupefying her for a trice, "If you send him off, you’re basically sending him off to his death and you _know_ it."

Han whipped his head back, incredulity lifted his brows up high and trenched them down all the same, “You’d rather pin your own blood kin as a murderer rather than the godsdamned _commander_ of the _Imperial army?”_

Astri’s grip on his bicep tightened emphatically, “Do you want to be marked as one? Do you _want_ to be on the same level as the Empire? This is where we differ from them, Han! We draw the line here, as Corellians, we won’t stoop. Luke is dying, can’t you see it? He’s imprisoned in both his mind and soul, and it’s plain to see he’s struggling to stay alive. Let's not overlook he was bound against is will to do all that he did for the Empire; how much blame is he carrying on his shoulders; how much guilt do you think he's drowning in right now? For core's sake — are you really as blind as I think you are and you really can’t see that he is suffering just like the rest of us? Connect the nav points already! Luke _isn't_ like the others, and you know it; Elka saw it, we all have.”

“By the tides, Astri...” Han breathed out in utter disbelief; burned, he yanked his arm back from her beseeching grip, scowling and spitting venom. “Don’t let your _feelings_ get in the way. I’m only doing what I’ve got to do so I can protect my family. I don’t care what Elka’s got to say about it in the end. You all have your eyes glued to the sky, looking for some kinda godsdamned break in the clouds that ain't ever comin’ around — ‘cause there’s a blasted _typhoon_ above your heads if you haven’t taken the time to notice for yourself! If the kid stays, then he’s putting us _all_ in danger.”

Han ran a hand through his hair and nodded once, resigning into the role he never asked to be placed in. "So _do it_ then, pin me as the bad guy. You think I wanna be comin’ off as the scum of the decade, here? I'm the one being forced to make all the hard choices. What’re you gonna do when the fucking Imperial army comes ‘n attacks our land just ‘cause Vader’s looking for his son who'd decided one day to just — throw a _fit_ ‘n run away from home? Our home's tangled in this karking mess ‘n I’m not risking the safety of our planet for one little _kid_.”

“You’re being absolutely ridiculous, Han! It’s been this long and there’s been no sign the Empire even knows where he is. There have been no sightings of any Imperial activity here since the last invasions. It’s the perfect opening to catch them while they’re still unaware. We could involve the Rebel Alliance — contact Wedge since he’s been with them for a long time now, so, he could definitely pull some strings to get us to Princess Leia...”

Astri trailed off when Han’s expression hardened, and he rebuffed her fleeting hopes, “I hate to break it to ya, but that’s a chance too far off to take into consideration under these circumstances.” Softening slightly upon perceiving trembles shaking Astri’s slender form, Han forced himself to subdue his anger and bury his hurt.

Astri was still too soft, hadn’t seen enough of the galaxy yet to harden her resolve and see clearly and Han couldn’t blame her for looking at things the way she was now. He liked Luke, more so than he would ever acknowledge to even his sister, but endangering his whole blood clan for one kid who was probably younger than Astri’s youthful age of twenty-two just didn’t come close to cutting it and he understood that long before Astri came to process the realities.

Han sighed after a taciturn silence brought on by his seemingly final sequitur. Briefly, he palmed his mouth in thought, hazel eyes darting up to her again. “… If you can get a hold of Wedge… Then _maybe_ I’ll think about it. There isn’t anything, any _one_ thing at all that will guarantee that this will work out even if you get a hold of our blasted cousin. And if there’s any indication that the Empire has figured out where their missing prince is — you can bet every credit you’ve got that I’m booting his ass out.”

Consolation purged her swirling emotions, dispelling the atrocious despondency that had squeezed her stomach in a merciless grip. Astri bit her lip to hold back the small smile from showing. She simply wished it had stemmed from promising contingencies and not solely from conciliation with Han. Astri faintly touched her brother’s hand with her own, and Han allowed it long enough to visibly relax.

“ _Relax_. I’ll talk to Elka about it too.”  
  


Han didn’t like the hopeful flutters burgeoning in his gut when he thought about Luke now.  


 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone :) I have fixed the repeated paragraph from the last chapter (A03 always does that wtf??) Currently, I'm working on a few things... I know some are waiting for The Banes of Being a Single Father's final, and it will be updated soon, I just couldn't really decide how to end it! Now, it's coming to a close, and I'm sad to see it go. :( 
> 
> Are you all enjoying this story? Is it boring or going too slow? Comment and kudo if you are enjoying, please! It really helps me out if there are no direct opinions. 
> 
> Of course, you don't have to comment, but I've never had an ongoing fiction where no feedback had been given while _this_ far in. Either way, _thank you_ to everyone who reads my stuff!! I appreciate every one of you all so much!! 

 

Luke settled on his sleeping mat when Astri and Han took flight to speak about whatever it was they needed to discuss in private. Now, he sat cross-legged and attempted to meditate without any use of the force and he soon wished that he’d never tried at all. Luke’s concentration seemed to falter at the faintest of sounds, slipping from him for a couple of minutes, and would be unaware until the realization would startle him. He would then take a moment to compose himself, readying to try again, but his attentions would rapidly taper like it had before. Luke marked that it happened whenever he hypothesized that perhaps, without being able to immerse himself into the Force during meditation, he wouldn't be able to find a sense of peace during troubling times.

Once again surrendering to his incessant forlorn thoughts, Luke uncrossed his legs in a hasty jerk, glaring at the sleeping mat below his bent knees. When nothing happened, as expected, he found himself thinking destructive thoughts all over again. In consequence, thick frustration coagulated in his chest, and it labored him until his breaths ran thin.

Carefully, he touched his hand to his neck, fingered around the area of the polished slate bar until he found the switch to reconnect the nexus he rather desperately longed for. It couldn't hurt to turn it on for a few minutes, could it? Just long enough for him to calm his rampant thoughts...  
  


“What’s wrong with it?”  
  


For the second time, Luke looked over to the entrance of the tent to find Han ducked under the flap, his brows slanted down and his forehead creased to convey chary agitation. Luke’s arm had jerked immediately out of reflex, at first ready to dismiss any problem with the device and that everything was fine, only, he inferred it wouldn’t be wise of him to agitate any prior suspicion that could very well be used against him; and so, Luke painstakingly retracted his arm to rest at his side whilst shaking his head, calmly denying Han.

Han walked in with a look on his face Luke couldn’t pin down for himself, and that failure ruffled him with a swiftness. Maybe he’d taken the Force for granted far too often in the past, maybe that was why he would get so vexed whenever he couldn’t figure out things on his own, things he would desperately need to know information about in that moment. Luke spent more or less the entirety of a week in Han’s presence, reading his behavior, learning the way in which he talked, attaining new awareness in a sluggish pace he’d never acknowledged to exist until now…

Is this what it was truly like to be without the Force? As though you were left blind, like a fool — practically tripping over your own two feet in all the thick uncertainty. To fire — what he believed in being random blaster shots into the dark? So haphazardly done, so artless and unlike anything he’d ever known. Or was it simply because Han’s behavior and personality bordered discordant to Luke? Because Luke had never found himself in the company of people like Han. Loudmouthed, arrogant, one who wasn’t shy about speaking their mind on any matter at hand. At the same time, Luke also believed Han to be an easier study than anyone else for the very same reasons, simply a result of his unfamiliarity.

The time they'd spent together had gone by in a blur, a very, very painful blur. Mainly whenever the bacta treatment had started. The Solo Clan clearly lacked medical supplies, and Elka had mentioned that fact earlier on, but he’d vaguely remembered her words since it had been banished by overwhelming waves of pain that stretched out for days. They had cleaned off his wounds with great care, little by little, cautiously attentive, almost to the point where Luke had half a mind to snap at them to hurry otherwise his agony would just drag out for longer.

There’d been no Force to ease his frayed nerves, no drugs to numb the jagged spikes scraping along what felt like every inch of his body. If it weren’t for Han’s occasional reassurances disguised behind a dense veneer of quips and ill-humored jabs, Luke could’ve easily thought himself transported into Sith hell by his old master. For that, Luke was, once again, very grateful to Han.

Once the treatments became less frequent, they talked as Luke healed. The lack of activity impelled them to make conversation. They had talked about anything and everything they could think of in order to saturate the dried, bitter bouts of silence that had kept their throats constantly parched. It had stirred enough of their basic instincts, their subconscious inclination to reanimate saliva glands and to revive a shortfall of moisture in their swabbed mouths.

From their talks, Luke had learned that Han could be a very enjoyable company to have if he ever chose to be pleasant. It was certainly impressive, all the stories Han told him in the time span of two days, up until Luke had found his voice and it was no longer Han’s voice filtering through the cool air of his tent. Although they shared very little of themselves, they openly chatted about their experiences with the Empire and established a mutual antipathy over the Empire’s methods.

To say Luke had been surprised was an understatement. His judgment and viewpoints had always been dismissed by his masters, and his father’s had been as well, though Luke doubted he could see past the haze The Emperor enshrouded him in. While he certainly did not agree with a majority of their methods, not all their new decrees had been born of hatred and a simple means for Palpatine to rise to a greater power. They had done good things, they had truly helped some systems return to the proud people that they once were. Not everyone saw things that way, however, they chose to see only the evils, the evils and how it overcame all traces of good left behind.

It had always been a fine line for Luke, and it still remained as such, but to become aware that others outside of his father’s kingdom, agreed with him despite what all The Empire had done? Hearing Han admit that aloud, after ranting about Palpatine and his father for hours — it was liberating as much as it was devastating.

But did Han view him as what the rest of the galaxy did? Did Han think he could be nothing more than a power-starved Imperial? He’d tossed his official title as prince and he’d squashed all that he had learned from his masters, going as far as to seal away the very powers to even utilize such teachings. Only, would that be enough to convince the rest of the systems? What more could he do in order to convey his severe contention with his father’s new rule?

Bleak thoughts returned tenfold, and Luke submerged himself in self-doubt for an instant, prior to it vanishing without a trace. What qualms Luke had that Han had yet to even warm up to him evaporated the instant that indecipherable look slid off. His posture slumped, and he lost that stiffened form that bracketed him to stand stoic. A slow grin formed, hardly there, just enough for Luke to catch, and the prince’s breath caught for a passing moment. He tried to wrap his mind around such a limpid display of conduct from Han, but his head still reeled from the sight.

Was that — what he saw, had it been relief he’d let loose? The body language Luke read was clear as day, yet the uncertainty lingered…

His blue eyes raked over Han once, and he promptly recognized that Han’s smile was reserved as it could be in the circumstances they were in. Although his instincts screamed at him to hold his tongue here, it seemed he never could. At least, not when it was Han.

Curiosity drenched his tone, “Were you worried about me?”

“Hey now, don’t go gettin’ a big head, junior. Gettin' cocky gets you killed.” Han collapsed into a chair near Luke’s sleeping mat. Without any word, it had been claimed as his usual spot to reside in when he visited Luke. Han palmed at his face tiredly, sighing all the while, “Elka’s still a very real threat on my ass y’know, and she’s already expressed that more than enough since you’ve been around.”

Luke didn’t bother with a response, only partly paying attention to what Han answered with since he couldn’t take his eyes off Han’s suddenly careless display of body language. A behavior Luke had yet to witness, and Luke wanted to study more of it. Luke’s cerulean eyes lingered on Han’s slouching frame, that hand still screened a pair of striking hazel eyes.

What Luke perceived had been a variety of contradictory comportment, it disturbed him while at the same time provided him an overload of information. Distantly, Luke fairly wished that Force inhibitor held the ability to dampen his general observation skills so he wouldn’t have noticed in the first place. Because now, Luke was more confounded than ever when it came to this Corellian navigator.

In the past, he prided himself in his aptitude in being able to read people with efficiency, such talents deriving from his father’s already shrewd analysis of people before it was then whetted into an astute skill by his training. At any rate, his befuddlement built and he spurned the conscious happening. Luke’s shoulders drooped lower as he emitted an agitated breath, pining anew for the link to a power that brought great strength as well as tranquility to his rampant mind. Moreover, it gave him the ability to seize the knowledge instead of him having to second guess himself like he was doing all over again now.

“Do the clothes fit you?” Han sat back in his chair coolly and stretched out his legs. His arms crossed and habitual mannerisms made a full recovery and buckled back down, “Astri told me about what she did for you.”

“You didn’t have to be so hard on her, she only wanted to thank me. I don’t know if I’m so deserving of thanks considering who I am, but nothing else happened between us.”

Han followed Luke as he stood up little by little, his movements well-defined so no added stress would bring forth punishing rushes of soreness. Han underwent only a twinge of guilt for what he was going to have to make Luke do in the following days, likely before any of his wounds would be completely healed too.

“Enough of that kinda talk. If you’re talkin’ about wanting to defect from the Empire, you’re gonna need to lose that attitude before it gets you into more trouble than your old one. Nobody likes someone so down in the dumps all the damn time.”

When Luke began to drop sections of his attire one by one, Han wasn’t sure if he should get up and help the semi-struggling man.

Since the day Elka had ordered him to bathe the brat, Han had unwittingly contrived to appoint himself as Luke’s personal aide and helped him through the initial healing process for most of his wounds. Bacta had been sparingly applied and there was nothing Han could do about it. It had been a long time since he had been forced to listen to a man groan and writhe in agony instead of being treated immediately or at least be thrown into a bacta tank.

Because beyond his roughed and scarred outer shell, Han held mercy in ample reserves. As much as he wanted to give Luke the boot, he wouldn’t. After all, what would they say about the Solo Clan of Corellia? What were they — animals that only lusted for revenge?

In this day and age, Han figured life would be better off for a majority of the galaxy’s sentient life forms by now. By abandoning the past archaic ways for contemporary ways of thinking, and utilizing modern methods of maintaining peace. The Empire was the purest form of contradiction to that wishful thinking. The thought made Han glower immediately, at both the labels plastered to his own opinions and his own goddamn brain that’d come up with it.

To Han, not many things paralleled the imprudence of pointless concepts — pointless afterthoughts maybe, even then, it was a stretch. Wishful thinking got people killed and Han sampled that acrid reality long ago. Sardonic sensibilities and bottom lines assumed their rightful place as his trustworthy advisers and Han intended on sticking with that particular mindset for a long time to come. No blond kid with pouty pink lips and a pair of endless blue eyes as vast as Corellia’s seas would come close to changing that. Not by a long shot.

“She did very well, tailoring this clothing without my measurements. Your sister shows talent in her work.” Luke fingered the edges of his sleeve tail, thumb fumbling over the button several times over. He lifted his offending hand to his face to glare, “Please give her… —my thanks.”

Simultaneous to noticing Han’s skeptical shift toward him, Luke locked his hand into a fist and disregarded the button to his sleeve for now. When Han left, he would assess the matter himself. Without the calculating hazel eyes marking his every move to make sure he was okay. Whether or not Han’s hospitality was strictly ordered, the sway of Han’s bound responsibilities had taken its toll on Luke as well, and his unintentional conditioning indicted him for keeping things to himself, or else the guilt would pull him down under again.

“Would you mind doing that, Captain Solo?”

Han regarded him with sharp, cautious eyes. His gaze swept over his arm and hand more than once, unable to recall any specific injury Luke had sustained on his right arm. Although Han respected Luke’s modesty in regard to his privacy, he’d still seen more than enough of the prince’s body during his many medical treatments. Bruises dotted the kid like the time he’d contracted the Prak virus in his younger years. Purple blotches every few inches down his body, itchy and extremely contagious. Hard to miss and impossible to misremember where each blotch had been located on his body.

Luke’s pain was sort of akin to Han’s past itching; Luke’s affliction could be compared to the way Han’s skin had crawled enough to drive him mad, to the point where it had rendered him unlikely to ever forget the feeling. With that comparison in mind, Han felt more than sure that he could sound off every single injury Luke had sustained and where it would be located. Only, Han didn't recall any serious wounds on his forearm or hand other than scratches. So what was wrong with his arm?

“Why not do it yourself, then?” Han grunted, the knuckle of his index finger grazing beneath his nose as he dropped his analytic survey for indifference, “You’ve got a mouth ‘n two legs. And it looks like you can stand now without falling over.”

“I’m afraid of what you might think if I went looking for your younger sister.” Luke quietly shrugged and began to straighten his new apparel. “I don’t think it would come off as a mere _friendly_ thanks, given my reputation around the galaxy.” Resting to stare down at his scabbed feet, Luke’s candidly sober tone shoved Han more than a few notches. “But I don’t think I could ever blame you for it, Captain Solo. I’m sure you want me out of here as soon as possible.”

“You can bet your ass I do,” Han had muttered spontaneously and he hastily extended his confirmation before the blasted kid could deprecate himself some more. Han didn’t want to hear a word of it. “But _some_ of my blood clan is wanting you… to stay.”

As expected, Luke said nothing.

“There’ll be a small meeting about it later on after some events my sister’s plannin’. For now, the clan wants to celebrate the two survivors of the immediate bloodline.” Han feigned engagement to the condition of his blaster belt, rubbing away a smudge or two from the darkened nerf leather. He then spared a glimpse over to Luke, anticipating an expression of bridled astonishment or further inquiry, possibly even hopeful relief as well.

Sweet goddesses — _wrong_ — Han was so goddamn far afield he could have docked in a whole nother system with how goddamn wide off the mark he was in predicting Luke’s actions.

Across the tent, Luke held the clan’s traditional robe in his hands and stared down at it with a diminutive, plaintive simper cast so openly that Han was rather convinced that he wouldn’t be able to provide reason for him to even understand it, not with how it didn’t even pass as a pathetic attempt in smirking derisively at himself — maybe even at Han. It didn’t matter. Because Luke bore a sincerity he hadn’t bargained in ever seeing, and that in itself brought rise to trouncing consternation. Why and how did this kid always manage to get to him like this?  
  


Goddammit.  
  


As a result, the Corellian’s jaw had hung slightly open at length, without even realizing it. His lips parted a fraction more, clearly stupefied until he caught himself. It had taken a few precious seconds, but after marking the blow as something that was now visibly perceivable on himself, Han blanked his features instinctively. Granted, he was rather late in doing so if he wanted no chance of Luke catching him, but it wasn’t as if Luke had any awareness of him at the moment, for he was far too occupied in gawking at Astri’s work. A look of pensiveness on Luke’s face slid together with forlorn ambivalence, certainly a look that hurt Han’s head.

While outwardly apathetic save for a heavy exhale through his nose, Han was, without question, feeling nothing short of being shot to pieces by that look. Irrational ire bubbled hot in his stomach because his inability to interpret Luke frustrated him, and it had ultimately loosened his tongue. “What’s with you, kiddo? Why have you got that face on you?” The second time, it had been the second time he’d seen it, and already, Han thought it two too many.

In the same breath, Luke had suddenly resumed animation and he folded up the lengthy expanse of cloth with great care and placed it next to his sleeping mat. “I’m not very sure what you mean by that, but I know what I feel on the inside.”

What could there be left to hide anymore? If there was anything else Luke had learned about Han so far, it was that Han didn’t like being lied to, and there was no purpose in inadvertently digging his own grave while simultaneously aware that it was happening.

So, Luke met Han’s eyes, “My father is being brainwashed by a Sith Lord who destroyed my family and royal bloodline. I left knowing what was being done to him... But what can I do? Face off with a master when I’m just a lowly apprentice? It’s possible that I could with the help of my father… Only, I don’t even know if there is any hope for my father’s mental state anymore. I don’t know if I could bring him back, I don’t know if anyone could bring back the father I hardly remember as a little boy.”

Luke leaned against a tent beam less than a foot away from where he slept, thoughtlessly mimicking Han at the same time finding a place to rest his body. Newfound aches and pains rippled down his limbs. Luke had risen and sat back down far too many times for his body’s liking so far, hence his reluctance to further exert his body by standing without some support for no good reason.

“You probably don’t think me capable of admitting such a thing... but I'm regretting it. I’m regretting my defection from the Empire. I shouldn’t have so hastily thrown away my titles. I may have planned it for a long while, but look where I am.” Luke lifted an arm and waved it about, "I didn't think too much about my own escape and what I would be doing after. I was thinking only about getting out of there first."

Han appeared entirely bored by the conversation topic. “Having second thoughts about having a life without someone at your every beck and call? Or was it hard to find time for you to think 'cause you were too busy ruining the lives of innocents throughout of the galaxy? Y'know, since you're a prince 'n all, I'd have figured you wouldn't want to do any of the dirty work yourself. I guess I was wrong.”

Luke deemed Han’s quip as perfectly justifiable yet he’d snorted at it nonetheless. He had anticipated it, welcomed it — because it was what he thought as more appropriate than the unremitting kindness he’d received from the clan. For this purpose, Luke grinned along with Han’s unfair sneer at him and even chuckled as though he agreed with Han’s contemptuous intention of flinging what he could to essentially damage.

“Though I’m bestowed with the title of prince, it’s not as grand and as luxurious of a title to carry on one’s shoulders. Sometimes, it’s more of a burden when people expect so much from you… When they expect things you’re not always able to give — or _willing_ to give.”

Luke waited for more, finding the derisive smirk on Han’s face appropriate for the conversation. Except, the sharp grimace on Han’s profile, on the contrary, didn’t belong at all. It could’ve been his imagination or the fact his body was near ready to fall over from just standing after a short amount of time, but Luke had seen crystal clear empathy in those ambiguous amber-green orbs.

“Yeah,” Han bobbed his head in reserve acknowledgment, his gaze downcast in contemplation. It was off-putting in many ways, to see Han Solo don such an expression, one Luke hadn't ever seen since meeting the pilot.

A line had been crossed here, Luke didn’t know when or where in the conversation he’d stepped over the invisible boundary, but he knew he’d trespassed into restricted area established long ago. Luke decided it would be better not to pry when he wasn’t welcome.

“When will this meeting be held? What about the festival? I don’t know much about festivals. Or what I’m able to do to help... I’m willing to lend a hand either way. I learn fast.” Luke stood a little more straight, straining to do so, and Han openly chortled at him.

Luke scowled, “I can help your clan. It’s the least I can do for now. I won’t get in the way. ... What is it? Am I not allowed to ever leave this tent?”

It was a valid question, taking into account of how Luke hadn’t taken one step out of his temporary housing other than the one time the portable ‘fresher malfunctioned in the middle of the night and he had been forced to relieve his bladder in the nearby bushes.

“What do you think you can do with that banged up arm of yours?” He scoffed from his seat, “You’re just lucky the fracture is near your shoulder. Y’know, with an impact like that you got there, if you’ve had anything closer to your neck, then you would’ve been _spaced_. Hey — don’t look at me like that. I got eyeballs too. I noticed you havin’ some problems with it.”

Han yawned theatrically, stood, and stretched, then motioned Luke to follow him, and Luke did so without another word. Han led him around in a circle inside the tent until they stopped in front of Luke’s sleeping mat.

“Why did you lead me around in a circle?” Luke demanded, indigence flaring warm just below his collar bones. “What was the point of that?”

“Kid,” Han clamped his hands to his hips, regarding the shorter man with a slightly tilted head and a single eyebrow mounted high, “How’re you feeling right now?”

Luke looked momentarily disturbed by such an arbitrary question. “I’m fine,” Luke replied, slightly out of breath, his cheeks a tad flushed from the effort. “We should go now — before the sun makes its way down any more than it already has. I saw those solar panels outside. Your clan runs on harnessed energies, right? Come now, no more games please, Captain Solo.”

Han groused something under his breath as he hunched over, averting his face to the side as if to keep himself from saying something he absolutely wanted to voice. Finally, he shook his head, “Look, if I had a mirror in my hands right now, then I could show you what I’m seein’. But I don’t have one, so, the most I can do is try to describe what you look like.”

He planted a hand on Luke’s shoulder and spontaneously winced when he saw how hard Luke had recoiled from the light touch. “... Actually, you just proved my point for me with that.”

“I’m fine.” Luke brushed his hand off, ‘ _I am fine._ You touched somewhere tender is all. I admit I may not be fully healed, but I can’t consider myself a useless meat bag just because I’m somewhat injured. I’ve had worse, Solo, trust me, I _have_.”

Han's eyes centered on him carefully at that, saying nothing, because he didn't doubt Luke for a second there. Luke doggedly sustained eye contact until stillness held at length.

“No,” Han answered, his tone final. He shook his head as he looped his thumbs in his gun belt, hastily making way for the exit, “I’m not goin’ t’be held responsible for you gettin’ hurt even more. Heal up some more first, then we can talk about what you can do around here until you make a full recovery.”

Luke desired to say something, something to get Han to stop babying him, but he knew better than to go against Han’s word again. He’d pushed the line enough already. With a muted exhale, Luke nodded his head at the floor despite the fact Han had his back to him. “Alright, I understand.”

“When the festival preparations begin, I’ll come ‘n get you. It’ll be a couple days at most, so rest while you can.”

Luke veered his gaze up whenever he heard the tent wing slap against a supporting beam, and it informed Luke that Han had truly exited his quarters. For a moment, he stared at the brilliant sunlight spilling from the crooked and open fold, rampant thoughts swirling viciously around in his head.  
  


“… Yes, thank you.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone, thank you for the lovely comments. I have been keeping them in my inbox as to encourage me when I feel down. :) I have a bad writer's block as you can see by my lack of updates. However, i am working on break out of it! Moreover, i have been incredibly ill and it's hindered my writing. :(    
>  I hope to update more soon. Please, if you have feedback, i would so very much appreciate it.♥   
>  I know it's moving slow, but it's just about to pick up — f i n a l l y.   
>  Slight warning — next chapter will be rated for **sexual themes!**

 

“We've got a lot to do today. Back out now while you still can.” Han ducked out of the tent and held the flap open for Luke. "'Cause I'm not babysittin' anyone."

"Thanks, but I will be all right," Luke said shortly.

For the first time, the prince was able to take a good look around the area. Sunlight had blinded Luke before he stepped out, made him lift a hand to shade the upper half of his face, his eyes quick to adjust, and the sight before him amazed him. There were no windows to the thick nerf leather walls of his tent. Therefore Luke saw hardly any of what all lay outside it. He surveyed the area.

Dozens of tents and partially constructed cabins scattered the distance. It reminded Luke of his father’s home planet of Tatooine, where the constructions — rather, sculptures of hardened dirt, mud, and sand modeled themselves out. They’d folded into themselves and created a vast architecture of buildings that blended effortlessly with their very foundation, web locked together to establish a town.

“You hungry yet, junior?” Han asked nonchalantly,

On cue, his stomach lurched when the smell of something delicious filled his nose; the dry winds picked up and carried the redolent scent. Scanning around, there was nothing within the area he could distinguish as being anything that came close to a food galley... Nonetheless, Luke understood these people needed to eat like everybody else; he just didn’t know where or how to obtain nourishment on his own here.

Dull pangs of hunger began to ripple through him whenever Luke breathed in, and he could only identify the feeling as being strange. He welcomed the response, however, for it was a sensation he thought practically foreign after not having felt any real hunger for quite some time.

"Uhm..." Luke hoped his resistance would tolerate the aromas but all thoughts quickly drifted to food despite the weighty mental subject of his situation still bearing down on him. The pain in his stomach peaked, and he glared down at his belly accusingly.

During his stay, Luke was quick to learn that there wasn’t very much he could stomach for very long, and it seemed it wasn't entirely because of his own mental rejection either. Liquids were readily accepted yet if he tried anything that was solid, it would have him gagged and vomiting in no time. Even after some trial and error, nothing other than mashed, boiled vegetables, without any seasonings, ever made it past the ten-minute mark.

In consequence, over the past few days, Luke didn't give himself much trouble to eat. Instead, only coming to consume enough food to feed a baby womp-weasel. He began to limit his calorie intake to an extreme; the behavior as well as stark inability to abide hadn’t been at all surprising. Rankling self-abjection had to have been the principal determinant to his consistent lack of appetite and intractable rounds of nausea.

"Are you feeling okay?" Han cocked an eyebrow at him, "You're not gonna toss — are ya? You were fine this morning."

"I'll be fine," reassured Luke, his stomach doing painful somersaults. Was this hunger or was this anxiety? At this rate, he would eat even if the possibility of it helping was thin.

To begin with, Luke had merely dismissed it as being nothing more than a native bug getting the better of him. However, the elders who attended to him, informed him it was wholly possible that he couldn’t keep down naturally grown foods fed to him since his body was more accustomed to the chemically unique and strictly structured synth-meals he had eaten for all his life.

Due to the absence of proper nutrients, Luke had inevitably forestalled his recovery. He had no idea what it was, why it was happening or what he could do. It made him ever weaker to the push and pulls of varying emotions continually battering his conscience. There was no work provided to him because of his poor health, and Han remained just as stubborn as before, blaming Elka that if he worsened the prince's condition, then Elka would wring his neck. As a result, the Corellian had given him nothing but slack, only, Luke couldn't provide anything in return for his tolerance to his unknown condition. It tapered Han's patience and stressed him out whenever Luke began to fall back to his monosyllabic way of speech.

The guilt of leaving his father always on his mind had changed the chats, Luke supposed, Han rather enjoyed with him, into irksome and pesky half-heard conversation Luke couldn't even attempt in recalling when Han left for the night. Under those circumstances, Luke decided that the best solution had been to isolate himself in his quarters, telling Han that he just needed _one_ more day of rest. He hoped to simply bridle all his distraught emotions, thinking that his physical illness had linked with his mental turmoil.

Han shrugged at him, "If you say so. I just don't wanna be the one cleanin' it up or be the one getting vomited on again. You already ruined one of my favorite shirts." He added after pausing for a short period, grin wide, whereas Luke began to grimace at his failure to recall the embarrassing instance.

Luke still couldn't remember what all happened afterward. Only that he never felt as sick as he had before. In all honesty, Luke deemed his suffering within the categories of three evils. Physical pain, somatic illness, and finally, mental anguish. Luke decided he would've rather been tortured than to have to experience another round of what he had faced.

He'd ridden out episodes of cruel repentance and sickening swirls of vertigo at length; where atrocious odium swept him away to touch base alongside the shores of ever-swelling incoherence. The siege of pneumonia debilitated him completely, driving him into pitched depths of inner conscience. Luke had resigned himself to vehement rounds of irrational disquiet and struggled to hold himself together. He had been entirely aware of his deceptive senses of solace; how it had done nothing to alleviate onslaughts of savage contrition, and volleyed to shred what remaining semblances of inner tranquility he had left to hold dear.

Only in due time had exhaustion grant him the occasional mercy from relentless culpability, enfolding him into compressed, restless bouts of sleep at once up till the cycle would repeat itself. Sooner or later, Luke could hardly summon the memory to mind, one of the clan's grandmothers found him trying to break a fever high enough to kill a man. When he could stand being awake for more than five minutes, Han had told him that he'd blacked out while probably trying to pour some water for himself.

"Hey."

Luke blinked and looked up from where he'd been staring, imagination had taken flight for too long for yet another time. Luke could recognize the impatience he'd seen in those hazel eyes rebounding back, heated and ready to pick a fight if he said the wrong thing.

" _Mmn_ , yes?" Hummed Luke, attempting his best to seem as though he was staring, taking in the many views and not just the dirt below his boots. "Forgive me, I was — thinking. Too much — again. Were you saying something, captain?"

Luke worried his upper lip between the set of his front teeth, indecisive about what to say as he pressed a hand over his flat abdomen. If Luke wanted to, he could very well turn back and grab the ration bars Han supplied him after he had found out Luke hadn't been consuming close to enough calories.

Among other things, Instinct screamed at him loudly. If he didn't eat _something_ , and soon, seeing as to how his condition could only get worse. The weight loss Luke endured was unquestionably more noticeable to everyone else than to himself. While Luke knew just how healthy and capable he was before crash landing on Corellia, he couldn't bring himself to care about his weakening state. Now, Luke was more or less skin and muscle, whipcord thin and far less surefooted in holding his own in any skirmish.

Of course, the Solo clan had demonstrated behavior nothing short of amiable to Luke since being enfolded in their benevolent wings. No one short of Han and he, himself, caused anything akin to grief. They cared for Luke as though he were one of their very own. In distinction to that, festering disquiet galvanized, owing it to how it made little sense that the clan was going as far as they were to accommodate him.

So inordinately altruistic to the prince of an Empire that hadn’t been at all far from wiping their planet of all life forms; a mass genocide judged on being for the greater good. Albeit a judgment, not made of himself nor had he the free will of choosing to follow anything else at the time. Be that as it was, it didn't change the fact Luke had ducked his head down, submitted, and carried out his orders.

The marginally cross exhalation from Han generated a grimace at himself as Han led the way. “Alright, c’mon. Follow me closely 'n don't stray from me; I'm hungry.” Luke trudged behind Han quietly, just a step or two behind him.

" _Ol'val, reg heretanho_!" A man who stood behind a stall beckoned at Han wildly, mouth tumbling elongated vowels of what Luke assumed was the native language.

" _Khasaan'l_." Han bobbed his head to acknowledge the other man.

“ _Li bey ihn plachi al vid valle, relneshro_ _Solo_. Such a pleasure to see you come to my stand again. Of all the food vendors to choose from, you come back to _me_.” The Corellian salesman flapped his long eyelashes at Han.

"Hi." Han grimaced, faced contorting sharply, eliciting Luke to nearly hazard a smile in amusement.

The young man promptly abandoned the dazzling grin so his thin rosy lips could tug and pull into a coy smile. It was absolutely faux in nature, and Luke had marked that in silence. He also detected the way Han’s eyes had rolled shortly before Ores even opened his mouth to speak again.

"I am obviously so very flattered. What services may I provide you, _via moshho_?"

The already present scowl twisted into a deep grimace. What Ores saying in Corellian that had Han so irritated already? To get him as worked up as he was now, Luke would usually have to cross several lines. The prince swiveled back to evaluate the boisterous stranger. This young man certainly put shame to the stereotypical mindset that all male Corellians had a darkened shade of skin and sported rugged features; much like how Astri was the female counterpart of a perfect example to such an exception as well.

For this man was, in all honesty — pretty; his slight frame, lean fingers, delicate wrists and pale fair features drew Luke’s attention to him. Be that as it was, Luke had a sneaking suspicion his outward impression said little when it came to his true strengths. Be it crafted in utilizing an acerbic, barbed tongue, or perhaps Ores kept an exceptionally trained, sinewy form hidden underneath the slim tunic he donned. Luke wasn’t all too poised enough to seek answers or to confirm himself. Moreover, Luke also sensed it was redundant to bother verifying.

As much as it was one of those gut impulses to solicit some form of confirmation on the matter, Luke apprehended that he was in no place to be sizing up anyone up here. Even so, habit forced an instinctive reaction. It was a volition not of his own since long ago, and so he steeled himself.

Clear emerald eyes framed with lush, jet black eyelashes centered only on Han as Ores rested his elbows on the counter, cupping his face with both his hands and completely ignored Luke. Luke rolled his tongue in the cage of his mouth and refused to point out the rude behavior as Ores went as far as shifting his body away from Han’s companion to grant Han his undivided attention.

 _What an odd man_ , Luke had decided to himself as he stepped fractionally closer to observe the unfolding scene in reserved silence.

Han crossed his arms, tongue clicking to convey his irritation with the fellow clan member. “You can start by _not_ callin’ me that again, or I’ll actually kick your ass the next time you do it. I gave you an earful the last time you did. What’s so hard to understand?”

For yet another time, Ores’s countenance switched abruptly. Narrowed green orbs went alight with mischief that Luke now regarded as very—… _Corellian-like_. Ores pushed his lower lip out, pouting like a child at Han, who made a face in response. The spectacle provoked Luke to grimace instantly at such a puerile action. Ores were surely a grown man, except he acted nothing like it. Second-hand embarrassment festered cold in his belly, and he looked away when Ores didn’t relent his display.

“I do understand, I do, but _kontuci_ holds more power over your head. Therefore I must obey her words more so than you until the time comes that you will carry her power."

"Well, _kontuci_ is my _sister_ — and that already puts me above your line of command anyway." Han rolled his eyes, arms crossing, "Things've changed. Stop being so traditional already, you're not that much older than _me_ for core's sake. Astri'll be the new leader 'n we all know it."

"... Hm.” A thumb and an index finger came up to stroke at his chin and peered overhead as if in thought. “Young Astriva would be an exceptional leader, I concur with you. Even so, as much as you try to argue against me, _relneshro Solo_. There has been a growing amount of people who believe that is not true. Most of the clan thinks that in due time, society _will_ fall back into place, and things _will_ naturally fall back to order. Clearly, I can’t just disrespect r—”

“— **Ores** ,” Han cut him off brusquely, Ores's name heavily accented, hazel eyes startlingly acerbic out of nowhere. It was beginning to border petulant from how the look lingered and Ores’s lack of reaction didn't help with how it indicated his plain indifference. Especially with how the man only shrugged casually while under the weight of Han’s warning glare.

“You talk too much, always have. So let's cut the phobium 'cause you're talkin' me deaf. I don’t have enough time to entertain you all day. Elka has a full schedule for me to finish by the time the sun sets.” Han abruptly gestured towards Luke, as if he only then remembered that no one had been properly introduced yet. “This's Skywalker. Don't get on his nerves too, will ya. I might not kill you out of anger, but _he_ might."

Luke couldn't bring his gaze up as Han talked so casually of death. Be it jesting or not, Luke perceived the swelling tides of shame once more.

"We’re hungry ‘n we’ve got a big day ahead of us. We’re looking for something to eat before we get started.”

As Luke had anticipated, Ores wheeled toward him from where he had perched on the counter — Ores's pivot, for some reason, was deliberately slow. Out of the corner of his slanted field of vision, Luke saw it. Something abnormal had dashed across his tightly held gaze, and it struck a baleful, molten sort of brilliance that brutally set fire to what stunted security Luke had managed rallying since being back in Han’s marginally comforting presence again. Luke decided then that he couldn’t decipher its origin and was unable to come up with even a single thought as to what it truly meant. Without the force to guide him, whatever remaining surplus moral he had, doubled back as it should, leaving him to wallow in turbulent bitterness.

Ores’s resolute glare lingered on Luke, heightening the defiance in him. It drew in an abundant amount of advocative pressure for the prince to bear down upon, exhorting him to challenge the contending gaze and bridge that penetrating green with an equally daring cerulean.

No — he couldn’t — and he _would not!_ Therefore, with that reason, Luke submitted.

Just as Luke strived to squash his self-pride with a fierceness and will himself to surrender to the stranger’s glare, Luke was thoroughly taken aback by the sight of a sudden tug in the corner of Ores’s mouth. Albeit slow, it dragged his once thinned lips into a blinding, toothy grin.

Black hair sprang into his eyes when he flung his arms upwards and into the air, joyous and entirely too loud about it according to Han. “Welcome to Corellia, Prince Skywalker! You are the one who saved our beloved _r_ _elneshro Astriva_ from those dastardly Raiders, no?"

Ores began to clap wildly after Luke had nodded, lips slightly parted and practically dumbfounded.

"— _Steller!_ I’m so very honored to meet you, your highness. My name is Ores Novar of the Solo Clan. And as I’m sure you know, it’s not every day I’m able to meet the handsome prince of the Empire, so please, pardon my excitement.”

Luke had pitched his upper half forward, awkwardly. Typically, a short bob of his head would signify acknowledgment, but the unfamiliarity of the situation just about crippled his social skills.

"... Likewise, Novar."

Luke drew his eyebrows together and allowed confusion to muddle his features. There were so many questions Luke wanted to ask Ores or Han. He didn’t care who would provide him the information, just as long as someone could answer him.

Starting with the question of; what was the meaning to ' _relneshro_?' It was the first time Luke had ever heard someone refer to Han with the word as well as Astri. It was clear that Astri had to have been a nickname, given that Han had addressed her in a similar but full name when he had a bone to pick with his sister. But this ' _relneshro_ ’ —? Luke had yet to encounter very many people outside of the direct bloodline. Most of them were elderly and spoke only in a different dialect. Not that he knew the language, but he could mark the variances in the tongue. And it was now that he pondered if he could be disrespecting the Solos by not addressing them by what could be their respectably given tribal titles. All of it was worrisome to think about.

“Ah, right.” Ores whirled back to Han with a huff and followed the action with a salute, “Aye, Captain! I’ll make your usual fast favorites? Since you keep repeating you happen to be on a tight schedule at the moment; otherwise, you know I would more than happily cook up something better. Brandy as well, sir?”

“Bring me the bottle.”

With a grunt, Han stalked over to a quiet area scattered with tables and chairs set aside from the vendor, delaying momentarily for Luke to get the notion and follow.

“What are we going to do today?” The prince sat down, grateful for the wooden bench even though it had no cushioning for his sore body. He relished the way the pressure eased off his ankles and thighs. It was more than enough for now. When no answer came, Luke turned to Han, who now had a bottle of brandy in his hands and Ores behind him, out of nowhere, dropping off two cups before running off. Had he truly taken his sweet time getting situated or was Ores that light on his feet? Luke didn’t like either possible reason.

“We’ve got a couple things to do today. I might be holding off on some of ‘em until you’re a little less sore. Most of ‘em are chores anyway. Doable, even in your condition."

"Are they chores you have issued me? Will I be taking on this task from now on?"

"Nawh, they're directly from Elka herself. They're reasonable enough that I don't have to do 'em with you, but she was specific about one thing. She wants me to show you the ropes when it comes to handling the livestock. Let you take a good look at how we live our lives now that we don’t coincide with technology as much as the rest of the galaxy still does.” Han took a moment to emphasize the reason behind his sister’s intentions, elucidating without being prompted to. “But this _ain't_ some initiation process or anything, so, **don’t** get any funny ideas about why Elka wants to do this.”

Luke said nothing to Han’s clarification. He wasn't expectant of anything to begin with.

“We’ve picked back up a lot of our Corellian traditions since the invasion.” Han seemed to inform randomly, “And we’ve been reviving a lot of our old ways of living. So, instead of synthesized foods, we grow everything we eat, and we grow it by ourselves. We’ve got little to no droids too, don’t trust ‘em, so it’s mostly Corellian labor. That actually benefited us, though, helped us get a hold of ourselves again and get us back in line toward rebuilding our society.” Han poured himself a cup of the brandy first, then a cup for Luke and gestured with the same hand, “We’ve adjusted pretty damn well. As you can see for yourself.”

Luke surveyed the new area they walked from where he sat. Notwithstanding the fact it wasn’t very far from where they once stood in front of Ores’s stand, the view from his eating area was remarkably different. From the benches overlooked the market square, and behind him, a vast forest to his far left, endless plain lands dead center of where he sat and to his right was the shores of a beach scattered with self-powered boats. Luke had only seen such primitive machinery in holopictures and holovids. The sight of the rolling waves on the beach stirred his curiosity. It was no wonder he'd been smelling a salty tang in the air. Luke imagined what the shores looked like up close in his head.

“Yes… It’s amazing to see so much greenery here. I grew up mostly on Tatooine. After my father had concluded his decision to join the Empire his master was creating, I lived the rest of my adolescent years on Coruscant.”

Disregarding the urge to ask for his age, Han instead smirked at Luke. “So, you lived on a dust ball that gets blasted with sunlight for nineteen hours outta the twenty-three you got from Tatoo one ‘n two. Then you moved to a hustle ‘n bustle city with enough smog in the air to shade my face a whole new color after walkin’ ‘round for an hour or less?” Han took a swig of his brandy, chortling, “Can’t say I’m jealous of you, _prince_.”

“I never said I liked growing up on those planets.”

Han laughed loudly, this time, nodding while stifling more laughter. “Yeah, I get you there. But this place wasn’t always so lush 'n green all over. It was pretty barren, maybe as bad as Tatooine in some places. It actually took some time before Corellia’s oceans were even close to clean again. Her waters were so severely polluted there was no way we could fish for food anymore. A lot of the marine life mutated. Same went for the lands. If it weren’t for the fact we’re pretty smart with overall engineering, we never would’ve been able to build the machinery that filtered our oceans ‘n replenished our soils.”

“What about when your crops don't provide enough for the people? Don't you synthesize foods at all?” Luke winced as soon as he asked both questions, noting how he gave the slight impression of having been spoiled by luxury.

“We avoid the use of it unless needed. Elka’s afraid that if we stray too far from physical labors, it'll just bring us back to the stage we were at before. Dunno, she thinks the people will start getting too dependent 'n they'll start stirrin' up trouble like rising up against the Empire again.” Han snorted derisively, “Like we could manage that at all right now. Our population's been wiped to half at the very _least_. We don't stand a chance against 'em.”

To a certain degree, their first invasion was ultimately foreseen to fail, the second invasion, however, was not, and Luke recalled his father's fury when Corellia's people continued to rise after every battle he'd brutally crushed them in. Luke recalled his father's fury when Corellia's people continued to rise after every battle he'd brutally crushed them in. Luke shifted uncomfortably in his seat after failing to summon any other detail of his father’s invasion of Corellia. He had been a mere boy at the time. Therefore, he was only able to remember his father’s rage and The Empire's overall failure to capture the planet before the natives could substantially drain the precious resources his father had wanted from them.

“Do you… do you think your people would do so? What would your sister say?”

Luke did not want to see any of these kind people slaughtered.

If war indeed came, would Han stand alongside his brothers and fight for his home world as well?

“Nah. I think she’s paranoid about it." Han shrugged, "but I'm not the one holdin' the clan title; she is. If she thinks labor will help, then I guess it will. I guess so far it's worked, yeah? Nobody's been thinkin’ about pickin' a fight with the Empire in years. That sort of shows that it's working.” However, Han didn't sound confident to Luke.

The prince leaned in closer without realizing, expectant of more information and strongly exuded interest over Han's people.

“Judging by that look on you, what else you wanna know?"

“Tell me about Elka and your people. Why is Novar in your clan if he doesn’t have the same last name? I want to learn the dynamics of your family. Oh, and what is 'relneshro'?” Entirely by accident, Luke nearly spit at Han when he tried pronouncing the elongated vowels of the native language for himself. Embarrassment tore color into his pale cheeks as Han made a show of wiping his face.

Nothing landed on him, but he enjoyed how the action added to Luke’s mortification, "...I, erm — my apologies."

'S'alright," chortled Han, revealing that Luke hadn't spit on him at all. "I expect information back, y'know, this Intel ain't close to being free.”

"Whatever you desire, Captain."

At that, Han eyed him oddly, and Luke furrowed his brows slightly out of confusion, unsure if he were rude to answer in the way that he had. Han yawned, and the look was gone by the time he relaxed in his seat, elbows resting on the table. "Family's off limits for now. I'm not in the mood to talk about Elka. But Ores — I'm glad he ain't related to me." An amused scoff followed, "Clan Solo is made up of a network of families. We're one of the only clans on this planet that're able to accept outsiders like that. Sort of like getting married or adopted. If he wanted to, Ores could've changed his last name to Solo, but he didn't, not that I care."

"Is that why you I hear the term 'immediate bloodline' all the time?" inquired Luke as he mentally compared Han's culture to his own. Tatooine didn't call them clans... but Houses, and they certainly couldn't welcome, just _anybody_ into an immediate line.

Han nodded to confirm him. "Right. Technically, everyone here is of the Solo Clan, but no one but me and a few others can say they're pure bloods."

"That sounds so... exclusive." Luke fished for a better word and was unable to find one. "I don't know how to explain without speaking Huttese to you. I can't translate it to basic well —"

_"Jee woy cohai Yikkuensm. Ritke sey."_

All Han had said was that he knew how to speak Huttese, but Han had the impression he must have either brutally butchered it after so many years of not having spoken the language, or had surprised the kid. What with how he was all agog and speechless — it was that, or Han mistook apparent offense as awe instead.

"My old boss was a hutt," Han said in passing, indifferent to it. "I haven't spoken it in years,though. I butcher it or something?"

"Amazing," Luke said after breaking out of his mild stupor, then smiled, and actually _smiled_ — for what felt like the first time to Han. With his upper lip curled up to display a row of pearly whites, Luke lowered his head and shook it in disbelief. By ill hap, all that shiny blond hair stopped bouncing when he'd peered back up to meet Han's gaze. "No, not at all. You spoke that so fluently that I never would have guessed you weren't from Tatooine. The word I wanted to say was ' _mazag_.’"

Clearly, Luke had no idea how inadvertently charming he was for the Corellian had thought he'd done incredibly well to quash his reaction to Luke's charms, but the Huttese word just about bowled him over on the inside. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, it had always been deemed a sensitive topic to ever touch base with when it came to Han. Except... Luke couldn't have just guessed from what little information he had provided. He couldn't have!

Han felt hot oil gushing up in his chest again, and he grumbled, trying to subdue the anger. "You mean — _royalty?_ We don't think of ourselves to be that high 'n mighty. That's not what I meant by 'pure blooded.' _Olys_ _Corellisi_ to Basic can only go so far." He waved away Luke's profuse apology that he had meant no offense. "S'all right. Around here, we don't bring up our past rulers 'cause of what all happened." Han stressed the dislike ever more, "It's a dangerous subject for Corellians."

"Yes, I understand. Tatooine is the same way." Luke sheepishly shrugged despite how true his words were, and it was no attempt to sympathize or relate. The people of Tatooine scorned their Empire as much as all the other sentient life forms in the galaxy did. What was worse was that the Empire itself was built on Tatooine. Luke quieted down and dragged his fingers over the aged wood of the table, studying the natural design unobtrusively so as to pacify Han.

Han gazed up over the rim of his drink, following the waves crashing against the shoreline in the distance. He couldn’t hear the ocean from this far. However, Han was able to listen to the sound in his head as he watched. “You ever been to a beach?”

“Never once,” Luke had responded vacantly, Han watched the way Luke struggled to tear his eyes away from the view. In time he eventually did. However, Luke looked a little green when Han got a good look at him. “I like the sight of it; it’s beautiful, and I want to go there only because I've never seen the ocean up close....But after watching it from afar for some time... I feel somewhat sick.”

“Good thing fishin’ ain’t on my to-do list for today.”

Luke accepted the drink Han nudged toward him, however, instead of trying it like Han coaxed him to, he merely cupped it in his hands between his legs, facing the other direction from where Han sat in hopes that the stubborn Corellian wouldn’t push him to drink it. Alcohol wasn't something he fancied, and the waves of the ocean still replayed in his mind. “So where did you learn your Huttese? On Tatooine?”

“Yeah, I used to do some supply runs for my old boss on Tatooine. He didn't speak basic, so I guess I learned in the best way possible. Hated the place, though. I'm glad I left him." Han concluded shortly, prior to Ores dropping off several dishes on their tables, along with a few extra forks and plates.

Luke wasn’t able to put a single name to any of the steaming food set before him. Nonetheless, his stomach lurched one more time. In this particular instance, it squeaked out a pathetic sound, and Han had immediately barked at him, ordered him to turn himself around to eat. Luke obeyed, the prospect of filling his stomach with solids stole too much of his attention to complain inwardly about Han’s impoliteness toward royalty… —

Luke slowed his eager hands, resigning them to feign study of his meal and allow Han to fill his plate first, realizing that he rather liked the idea of dropping his titles entirely and accepting his new status: an ordinary man, and ordinary men paid for their food when they ate.

“How can I pay in return for this meal?” Luke’s eyes darted to Ores who leaned over his counter, talking sweetly to a pair of young women. Their bursts of laughter made him look back at Han, who continued in filling his own plate nonchalantly.

“You don’t gotta. Eat up before we run outta daylight to finish what Elka wants done today.” Han bit into his flatbread, ceasing midway when he saw Luke staring at him intently. “What?” Breadcrumbs flew toward Luke. Han didn't seem to mind that fact.

“But this isn’t right. I can’t just take food from this man,” Luke pushed his plates aside and brushed away the crumbs scattered around. “It was one thing to take food and medical treatment from you and your family, but I can’t take more from your clan members. It would be wrong of me to do.”

Han chewed quietly and eyed the prince, hunting for indications of artful behavior only someone as cunning as the son of the Empire could probably pull off with ease. Much to his perturbation, Han discovered no such thing in his eyes. The pilot swallowed his bite of flatbread then speared a morsel of fried meat to point it at Luke, “Why can’t you ever just listen to what I say? Why do you have to fight everything that comes outta my mouth? Can’t you just eat and not think about this kinda poodoo?”

Luke pushed aside Han’s fork from him with one hand. It was too far from him to tempt him, and Luke knew it absolutely was not an offering for him to eat off Han’s utensil either. “No, I cannot. I’m sorry if my concerns annoy you. I’m not trying to cause trouble, but did you not hear what I said? I stated that it would be wrong. I can’t take food without credits or at least something of value to offer in return. I’m aware of the fact I have nothing to give… I’m sure Ores does plenty to keep his business afloat. I would be essentially pocketing his hard earned credits right from his hands if I swallowed anything he’s offered me here. I can no longer take this kindness for granted.”

Rolling his eyes, Han stood and snatched Luke’s plate in order to spoon random vegetables and meats onto the platter. Luke ignored his obvious intentions of forcing him to eat. Han sat back after carelessly dropping Luke’s plate right before his folded elbows on the edge of the table to emphasize his ebbing patience. Luke ignored the sauces that splattered around.

"Look, if you don’t eat, you’re disrespecting Ores ‘n his hospitality for you.” When Luke paled a little, Han continued his impassive rebuff by taking a sip of his stew first, wiped his mouth and took another bite of bread to talk with his mouth full. It was then that Luke began to doubt that his lack of table manners was a thoughtless act of the older man.

“’Sides, who the hell said we ain’t payin’ for this meal?”

Some color returned to Luke’s features, and he perked up at Han, who then stopped his fork midway to his mouth, stunned to see a young teen in front of him instead of the normally sobered prince. “Does that mean you will be paying pay for all his troubles, Captain?”

Once again, Han eyed Luke wearily before shaking his head in unexpected reserve. “No, I wasn’t gonna pay for this,” and the kid deflated instantaneously. Han scowled at that; his forbearance had run thin since the morning, and now, it was absolutely squashed by cutting irritation.

While throwing one arm in Ores’s direction, Han somehow managed to not draw any attention toward the both of them even as he snapped, “You didn’t let me finish! Ores owe me ‘n my family a lot of credits. To tell the blasted truth, most of our clan owes us a hell'uva lot of credits. A majority of them either have a massive debt to us or a certain sum of credits they just can’t afford to pay us back right now. So, it’s the little things like _this_ that keep them reassured that we’re not breathin’ down their necks for our credits back. Does that ease your mind a little? Will you eat some goddamn food now, so we _don’t_ end up working ‘till the sun goes down?”

Retracting his arm with a low grumble, Han drank more of his stew to muzzle any ornery remarks he had lingering on his tongue, practically scalding it with how fast he had chugged the thick liquid down so he wouldn’t push Luke too far. Elka would have his ass if she found out he still hadn’t been able to mollify his temperament around Luke. This leash around his neck grew more and more tight every day.

From the rim of his bowl, Han raked his eyes over Luke, who hadn't bothered to move since Han finished. The Corellian was quick to discern that Luke sustained a small, reluctant smile as he slowly picked up his fork and stabbed the same crispy meat that Han had shoved toward him earlier.

By the time Han thought it safe to set down his stew, Luke already began to chew softly on the morsel. Han delayed in saying anything else until Luke was done, unsure why he wanted to wait. There was an odd sense of irrational inclination to ask Luke if the food laid out before them were anything Luke would enjoy eating, or if something else would suit him. Absurd, considering the back of his mind screamed that he shouldn’t be giving a tarkaline’s _ass_ about whether or not the presented meal was something he fancied eating out of personal preference. And of course — the moment he saw the knob of Luke's throat bobbing after sipping his brandy, signaling the fact he had washed it all down, Han was rather star struck by the kid’s radiant smile for him.  


“Thank you, Han Solo. It’s very, very good.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n: the Corellian spoken here is Olys Corellisi and or 'Old Corellian'.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Elka Solo/Astri Solo belong to Angela Sparrow, I've simply borrowed her creations and fleshed them out since did very little with them. How unfortunate :( And big thanks to my darling @Corelliasfinest and @Captainskysolo from tumblr who so generously offered to help beta due to my impaired sight. More than likely, this fic will be posted and then edited when my eyesight returns somewhat. Hopefully, it will.   
> 


End file.
